


The 45 Minute Walk

by AGirlWithAnIdea



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Actually there's alot of, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, End of school, Family Issues, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, So much angst, Teenlock, Year 11
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 06:02:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGirlWithAnIdea/pseuds/AGirlWithAnIdea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone told the new student-John Watson- to stay away from the local psychopath Sherlock Holmes based on past events. So in able to keep the friends he made, he follows their wishes, or at least tries to. Sherlock's deduction skills and odd personality attracts John closer towards him; to fully understand the teenager behind the stories. Johnlock/Teenlock. Help appreciated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It wasn't a day that John Watson was looking forward to, in fact, he wished that the days to come never existed at all. Considering he was in a much safer place, he wished life would just return back to normal. Starting at a new school in his last year was the most difficult thing he has done in his life, he had to leave his friends behind, he had to catch up with schoolwork; this made him feel useless. This was why he wasn't enthusiastic on waking up for school; no matter how much his mother shouted in his ear, he refused to leave his bed.

"John, this is your last year until you go to college. Can you try and be a bit more useful and get ready-"  
"No."   
"-get changed,"  
"No."  
"Get up or I'll get a bucket of-"  
"FINE!" 

Lazily, he got out of bed, put on his uniform, grabbed his bag and headed downstairs towards the kitchen. The kitchen table was occupied by his father, mother and sister, who were happily eating their breakfast, not noticing that he entered the room. Both his parents were engaged in a conversation about John's first day, his sister not paying much attention and was more interested in what was on the television.

"You have 50 minutes until school starts, you can't stay long," said his mother as she passed him a piece of toast, "Worst thing to do is be late for school on your first day."  
"Just remember to be yourself." said his father as he patted his son on the back, still engulfed by the newspaper.  
"That must be the worst advice you've ever given someone." said his sister, Harry. All three laughed briefly before returning to their breakfast, completely ignoring John's presence. 

Sighing to himself, he walked towards the front door and headed outside into the autumn weather.  
There were no buses available near where he lived, so-even with his bad leg-he had to walk to school; 45 minutes there and back. The weather was pouring heavily with rain, splashing into the already formed puddles that emerged in the holes in the pavement.. Closing the front door behind him, he swung his bag onto his shoulder, turned on his iPod and headed started to walk out of his front garden and into the big world in front of him. 

The sounds of the morning traffic drowned out as music was blasted through his ears, eyes kept straight on, not turning anywhere else. Teenagers walked in front and behind him in completely different uniforms. There were many schools in the area, but his parents choose to send him to Lakemere High School. They visited before his first day, so they could get a chance to look around. It was fairly large, modern and two stories high, in the heart of the town centre. Surrounded by warehouses and apartments, it blended in with the rest. Each building reached towards the clouds as they grouped aside roads and pavements.

Rain hit his head and shoulders, no matter how fast or slow he walked. Rummaging through his pockets for his phone, he checked the time. 8am. He had been walking for exactly 30 minutes and it still felt like he was miles away, mind you, he wasn't really paying attention to time.   
It wasn't until it turned 25 past 8 that he realised that he was nowhere near his school. He was lost. Turning his head all around, he couldn't find anyone with the same uniform as him. There was no one to ask directions for, he started to panic. He couldn't even trace his footsteps, his couldn't think straight, the pain in his leg grew worse as he struggled to walk. Rain grew violent and soaked his uniform until it reached his skin. Out of nowhere, a figure appeared to walk past him, they were wearing a uniform; it looked like they were going to the same school as him. 

"EXCUSE ME?" he called to the figure as he limped towards them, headphones leaving his ears and dragged along behind him, "EXCUSE ME!"

The figure stopped and turned around to face who was calling him, it wasn't until he turned around that John actually got to look at his uniform. Judging by the look of the teenager, John understood that they were likely the same age. Black hair curled and swooped over his eyes, cheekbones so high that they nearly reached his heather grey eyes. His posture was well straight and just like him, he was soaked by the rain. The man gave John a stern look as if he had insulted him.

"What?" he asked, now and then checking the time on his watch.  
"Um, do you know where Lakemere High School is?"  
"Yes." he turned and continued to walk in the direction he was going.  
"Wait!" John ran after him and grabbed him by his upper arm, turning him back round again. He jumped at the sudden jump and looked at John with disgust.  
"What now?" he asked impatiently, shifting side to side to keep warm.  
"I'm new here and lost the way, can you tell me which way it is?"  
"Do you know where the supermarket is?"  
"No, which-"  
"Well, do you know where the library is?"  
"No.  
"For the love of-"he pinched the bridge of his nose and suppressed his eyes together, "Do you know where Angelo's is?  
"Who's Angelo?"   
"Look, If I take you there, will you remember which way you're going next time and leave me alone for the future?"  
"Don't you have to get to school?"  
"They'll survive without me."John didn't need to think twice, the rain looked like it wasn't going to stop and getting lost in a place he didn't know was the last thing he wanted. Looking at the tempered man in front of him, he slowly nodded and started to follow-who was already walking the opposite direction- the impatient man in front of him.  
"I'm John by the way," he said, quickly catching up with him, "John Watson."  
"Sherlock," he held out his hand for the other to accept, "Sherlock Holmes."


	2. Chapter 2

Both continued to walk in silence as they paced down the road, each exchanging quick glances-followed by a quick nod- and return to look at the view in front of them. John was too scared to talk to him, from Sherlock's look, he could tell that he wasn't enjoying his company. The rain died down as sunlight emerged back from the clouds, however their uniforms still soaked. Headphones had been put back into his pockets after they had been destroyed by the weather, phone still silently playing his music. 

"Accident or intended?" said Sherlock, turning his head again to face John.  
" What do you mean?"  
"Your stab wound, accident or intended?"  
John continued to walk, but couldn't help staring at his wound and Sherlock with shock. The wound was completely covered, there was no way he could have seen it. "Intended, sorry how did you-"   
"Looks like we're here."

He was right, after what seemed seconds, they arrived at the front of the school. John didn't want to admit it to Sherlock, but he had already forgot the directions there. Checking his watch, he noticed that school had started ten minutes ago; the one thing he didn't want to happen, happened. 

"Um, sorry to ask but how did you know about-"  
"You reach towards your shoulder a lot, that was where you were stabbed. You reach to it because now and then, it causes pain to you. I know that because you start to limp just after you do that. You haven't had that limp for long or else you would have a cane, so the incident happened recently. That's why you're new here, you moved because of what happened."

John was taken aback, someone he had just met already knows something that only a few knew. He never realised he did them things, he hardly notices.  
"That was brilliant" said John, who smiled for the first time that day. Even though John didn't think much of the comment, Sherlock looked shocked, but not in a bad way, he almost seemed pleased. 

"That's not what people normally say,"  
"What do people normally say?"  
"Piss-"  
"YOU TWO!" shouted someone from inside the gates. 

Both turned their heads and saw a raged teacher walk towards them, who John knew as the head teacher. His name was Mr Scott and-from what he told John- had been working at the school for fifteen years. Very proud of his job and of the students in it, he seemed friendly before but now he wasn't so sure.  
"John Hamish Watson, it's only your first day and you're already late!"  
"I got lost."

"Then I suggest you start learning your way. If you're late like this again, you will not be here for long."  
John was about to reply another apology before Sherlock interrupted him, "Does your wife know you're sleeping with the maths teacher?"

Mr Scott's face froze as Sherlock's produced a smirk, John stared at amazement to Sherlock, his smile never leaving him. After recovering, the head teacher gave an awkward cough before shoving John inside the school grounds, not giving John a chance to thank Sherlock, who was still staring at John before he continued to walk away from them. The force from the teacher was so strong that John nearly tripped on his own two feet. When they both reached inside(in the reception), John was handed a timetable and was told where to go to for his first lesson.  
\------------------------------------  
His first lesson was Maths with Ms Calvert, John laughed silently on how ironic it was. Maths was a subject that he could live with, as he found it incredibly easy and useful. The corridors were identical and all linked together in a maze, silence filling the air, the only echo that could be heard was of John's shoes against the marble floor.   
When he reached the classroom, he hesitated before opening the door. Arriving to class was embarrassing enough, let alone if you were new. All of his new acquaintances will not know what happened to him, it will be the secret that will grow inside and eventually people will find out, they have to, it can't just be a secret forever. He knocked twice on the door before entering the room, all eyes were focused on him as he shifted into the room. The teacher was stood at the front of the classroom before John entered, his peers were writing down notes.

"Did I say you could come in?"   
"Um, no but-"  
"Then go back outside and wait for me to call you in."

John couldn't believe it, when he had a look around the school, none of the teachers acted like this towards him, they were all welcoming and reasonable. Now, he just felt like punching them all. Walking back outside, he closed the door and knocked more harder on the door; a few seconds later, he heard the teacher call him back in.

"What can I do for you?"  
"Um, I'm new and got lost and I'm supposed to be here now." he handed over the timetable, but she didn't accept it.  
"That kind of behaviour isn't acceptable at this school, sit down next to-" she scanned the room before glaring at the only empty seat in the room, "Sally, she'll help you catch up with the work."

With not even a 'welcome to Lakemere', she returned back to the class and continued to talk to the rest of the class. Shuffling past the desks and chairs, he reached the chair and sat down next to her and held out his hand.  
"I'm John, John Watson."  
"Sally Donovan." she said, not accepting his handshake.


	3. Chapter 3

At lunchtime, John had been invited to sit with Sally and her friends. When the bell went for lunch, Sally quickly moved out of the classroom and down the hallway full of eager students relieved to get out of lessons for an hour. Even if she didn't lead him to the dining room, he ran quickly behind her and eventually caught up with her.

"So how many of you are there?" asked John as he returned to normal pace, "If you don't mind me asking,"  
"Just four of us, not really that many. We like to keep to ourselves. People respect that. We move on with our lives."  
For now, that was all each of them said until they reached the dining room where-John could easily point out- three people who stood out like a sore thumb sat around a circular table, talking to each other casually. When they noticed Sally walking towards them, they smiled; this smile disappeared when they realised that she was being followed by someone.

"Sally I think you're being followed?" said one of them, looking very concerned.  
"This is the new kid," she sat down in between two teenagers, "Jim Watson."  
"Actually it's John," he said, occupying the next available space around the table, "Nice to meet you too,"  
"So this is Anderson," she said signalling to her left, "-doesn't like to be called by his real name. As a new kid, you've got to respect that. To my right, is Sarah. That isn't a nickname, it's just plain old Sarah. And who you're sitting next to is Mike, he's been here the longest, god knows how,"  
"What do you mean 'how'?"  
"Look John," said Mike, leaning towards John, "-it may seem all nice and that on the outside, but if you actually get inside and get to know the people in it, it's a shit hole,"  
"Yeah, the teachers seem a bit uptight,"  
"When you came to the school, I bet they were all nice to you weren't they?" said Sarah, getting a reply from John with a nod, "Well, that's all a trick. The more students they have, the better review they get. When the inspectors come to this school, we all put on an act."  
"Why?"  
"Because this school is amazing," said Anderson, completely off attitude to the rest, "They don't pressure you into doing work all day, you can just sit there and do fuck all. It's only Sally here who actually does work because she wants to get a 'good' job when she's older."  
"I want to work in law, I need the grades," said Sally, defending herself.  
"So do I Sally, but by the time them exams come up in June, I'll have learned everything I need to know for the exams,"  
"Clever plan, Anderson."  
"I know it is."

The topic turned to what they did over the summer holidays, so John didn't feel the need to listen into their conversation and instead looked at other tables occupied by other people. The outline of students was so common, you had your popular students who thought they are the next big thing, the chavs who ignored their uniforms and went for tracksuits, the clever people who looked were reading books, the Goths, the hipsters, the sporty type, the geeks and then them.

If John had to think about it, he believed that he would belong on the table with either the clever people or the sporty type. Rugby used to be a great passion of his-until he got stabbed-then he just gave up on trying to get back into the sport. In his last school, teachers were exceptionally proud of the end of term grades he achieved; even if he got injured and moved to another school, he won't let it ruin his chances for a better future.

"Hey John?" a pair of hands waved in front of his face, making him turn around and again face the group, "Are you with us?"  
"Yes, um- sorry, what were you saying?"  
"Sally was telling us that you were late to class today,"  
"Yeah, something happened,"  
"John Watson, it's only your first day and you were already late for school," said Anderson in a teacher mocking tone, but returned back to his normal voice, "But seriously though, why?"  
"I just got lost, then someone from another school showed me the way, which was nice considering it was raining. He was the same age as me, Sherlock Holmes I think he-" he was cut off by the sound of forks dropping on the table. Looking at their faces, he saw that Sally and Anderson were disgusted while Sarah and Mike turned white as a sheet.  
"Did you just say Sherlock Holmes?" said Sally, wiping her mouth of any unwanted food.  
"Um- yeah, why what's the-"  
"What did he do to you?!"   
"Nothing, why are you-"  
"Sherlock used to go to this school," said Sarah, the colour on her face returning to normal, "Weird one he was-"  
"The problem was he didn't keep to himself!" Anderson was at boiling point, "Always had them fucking sarcastic comments and stupid fucking guesses, he was- no IS a pain in the ass!"

"Why is he at a different school?" asked John, regretting even saying his name.  
"Why?" Anderson gave a little laugh, "Because one day, he didn't shut up when I told him to. There he was, making them stupid guesses. Once he finished, I showed him what happened if he didn't listen to others."  
"What did you do?"  
"He kicked the living crap out of him," Mike returned to look at Anderson, "I was there and saw the whole thing, he never said sorry in the time he was here, but when he said sorry to Anderson, he was still getting the life beaten out of him. Bit harsh don't you think?"  
"No, I don't think what I did was a bit harsh. Do you know why?" Anderson got out of his seat, still looking at Mike, "It's because people like him need to know when to shut up. Three years I had to put up with all of his bullshit and one day I had enough, I did the right thing, I know it." With one last look, he turned away and started to walk out of the fairly empty dining room, leaving his concerned friends and a horrified John behind.

"So yeah, that was Anderson," said Sally, each one laughed and got up, ready to go to next lesson, "But in the future, we suggest you stay away from Sherlock Holmes."  
Thinking about staying away from Sherlock only left John wanting to know more about him. They weren't just guesses-as Anderson puts them- that he said to John, they were actually true. A strange, but exciting feeling started to grow in John. Here he was, in a school which hid behind its fake walls, hiding the terrible truth, in a group of psychopaths who have a hate for the one person who John was actually interested in. What he going to listen to Sally's advice and stay out of trouble? Of course he wasn't, where would the fun be in that?


	4. Chapter 4

The bell for the end of school went off and all students-including John- fled out of the classroom as fast as they could, not caring for anyone's personal space when running side by side with each other. By now he had completely lost Sally and her friends, which he was glad with. He wanted nothing to do with her after lunch, they all seemed like psychopaths, but it seemed safe to have them on his side.

When he reached the outside gate, students began to drift apart from each other and head their own ways. The path that John remembered from this morning was only occupied by three people, the estate he lived in wasn't as rough as others but it wasn't as posh either. The whole day seemed to drag along, classes used to make John interested but not he didn't feel up for it. But it was only the first day maybe the feeling will disappear, he thought.

Once he walked further away from the school, the amount of people he saw started to reduce in size, leaving only one walking who was in front of him but not too far away. Noticing the shape and the hair of the guy in front of him, he easily recognised him as Sherlock.

"Sherlock!" John cried, slightly running towards him to catch up," Wait up!"  
It was Sherlock he saw. Turning around, the taller boy frowned, but then smiled as he noticed who was running towards him. Catching his breath as he ran along, he finally caught up with him and returned to normal pace.  
"Hey Sherlock," said John, hoping to get a 'hey' back, but it never came. After a brief moment of pause he broke the ice, "What's up?"  
"What do you mean 'what's up'? Do you mean what is above me at this moment in time or are you asking me how I'm feeling? Any one I'd be free to answer."  
"Um, how are you feeling? I guess,"  
"Normal."  
"Normal?" these odd questions and answers made John uncomfortable, even if he didn't want to be, "Normal's good. It's better than not being normal."  
"My thoughts exactly."

The space between them seemed to grow smaller, even though John didn't realise it, he was too busy trying not to trip on his own two feet. Their hands briefly brushed against another, before John pulled his hand away from him. John felt like telling Sherlock what Anderson told him, but he was scared of what kind of reaction he was going to get. Instead of telling Sherlock what he knew, he settled on asking more about Sherlock.

"So," said John, breaking the tension between the two, "What school do you go to?"  
"Parkbridge Grammar."  
"Parkbridge?" asked John, "Isn't that place really expensive to get in?"  
"Yes."  
"Well that's nice," John paused, trying to think of more questions, "Where do you live?"  
"Why would you ask that?"  
"Well, we've been walking the same way for ten minutes and I recognise this street from this morning, so you must live closer to where I live. That's why I asked."  
"Baker Street."  
"Wow...really?" asked John, "Isn't that where all the posh people live?"  
"If that's what you call them, then yes."  
"Sorry, I wasn't meant to be rude," the silence returned, until John began to speak, "So how long does it take you to get to school?"  
"58 minutes. 40 minutes with shortcuts, depends on how I'm feeling."

John really wished the conversation would continue, but it didn't. He didn't really know why he wanted it to continue, it just made him more at ease with someone speaking for once. They were about to reach another corner until a crowd stopped them in their path. John's height had a disadvantage to him, as he couldn't see what all the fuss was about. Sherlock-on the other hand- was already turning into an alleyway, too fast for John to catch up with him, but he eventually did.

"Sherlock!" shouted John, trying to avoid stepping on the broken glasses and damp newspapers, "Where are you going?"  
"Shortcut."  
"Well, do you know what way you're going?"  
"Of course I do," Sherlock stopped in front of a metal ladder before climbing up it towards the roof, "I wouldn't take this way if I didn't know where I was going."  
John was speechless, it was only a small crowd and anyway, they could have gone a different route, that was actually on the ground rather than on top of buildings.  
"You following?" called Sherlock, who was already halfway up the ladders, "If not then find your own way."

John didn't know why he did it, but he did it anyway. Without thinking, he put his rucksack on both shoulders before climbing up behind Sherlock, who was already at the top. The bars on the ladder were still damp from the weather, which made it more difficult-and slower- for John to climb up. His foot lost balance and slipped off, left dangling in the air while John calmed himself down. 

"Sh- Sherlock?" John tried to call, but didn't get an answer, "I need a little help!"  
Still not getting an answer, John put his foot back onto the bar and began to climb further up until-finally- he reached the top, collapsing on the floor with delight that he actually made it. Looking up, he noticed Sherlock was already on the 3rd roof away from John and heading onto the fourth.  
"Wait up!" called John, as he jumped over ceiling windows and fallen over satellites. Soon enough, he-once again- reached to Sherlock's side, "I'm following you. I don't know the way,"

"Then do keep up John, I don't have all day. I have eyeballs waiting for me."  
"Wait, you have what waiting for you?"  
"Eyeballs, like I said, do keep up."  
"Is that like your motto: do keep up?"  
"I don't have a motto, I have no need for a motto. I can live life perfectly well without having a motto."  
"Okay, don't get all moody about a bloody motto. It's just a motto. Anyway, where exactly are we?"  
"Look over there, does that look familiar?"

Following Sherlock's point, John focused his eyes on a small scale of greenery-which was the park- beyond the street. Easily recognising it, John noticed that they were only 10 minutes away from where he lived, the park was the first place John explored when moving here. He didn't focus on that for long, his gaze landed on the London eye which could be seen in the distance. Compared to where he used to live, London seemed more like where he belonged. It was filled with life and excitement, new possibilities were open on every corner.  
"So how long have you lived here for? If you don't mind me asking,"  
"All my life."  
"You're lucky, being brought up in a place like this? I bet you don't get bored around here," said John, only getting a shrug from Sherlock. They continued to walk on the rooftop, not really talking and sometimes forgetting they weren't alone, until they reached the end of the street. Sherlock followed-once again- down the closest ladder; when they both reached the bottom, they left the passageway and continued to walk down the path. 

When they turned the corner, John could see that they were just outside his house. It only seemed like they were walking for 10 minutes, but when John checked his watched, he noticed that they've been walking for 40 minutes.  
"Thanks Sherlock," said John, both stopped at the front gate of the house, "For bringing me back here."  
"No problem." said Sherlock, turning to leave before John's hand grabbed his arm to swing him back round again.  
"Wait, I need to tell you something. You went to Lakemere, didn't you?" said John. Sherlock gave a stern look to John, who was feeling uncomfortable for bringing it up in the first place, "I'm only asking because I met a couple of people there."  
"Yes I did, you want to know why I left as well?" said Sherlock, in a sarcastic manner, "Since you're asking a lot of questions about me?"  
"I know already. I've met Anderson and he told me what he did and even though I don't know you properly, I think what he did to you wasn't called for. He said you guess stuff about people which turn out to be right, you did that with me and I thought it was fantastic. So yeah, you didn't deserve that from him." 

He wished he could take back what he said, he really did. Now, both stood facing each other outside of John's house. Sherlock was open mouthed looking directly at John, while John refused to look him in the eye from embarrassment. However, he meant every word, this talent that Sherlock had didn't freak him out like it did with most people, he was actually jealous of him. In all his life, John would have never been able to do what Sherlock does, even if he tried.  
"Wh- Why are being like this?" asked Sherlock, staggering closer towards John.  
"Being like what?"  
"Nice? Why are you being nice?"   
"Can I be honest?"  
"Of course."  
John chuckled at the tall guy in front of him, "I don't know. And anyway, you told me to leave you alone this morning for the future, so why are YOU being nice to me?"  
Sherlock copied John, however his laugh was more like a deep, low-toned laugh while made John smile to himself, "Can I be honest to you John?"  
"Yeah, sure."  
"I don't know either."


	5. Chapter 5

Days later-after his first day of school- John was sat on the radiators in the hallway with Sally and the rest of her friends he met the other day. The week seemed to pass by really fast and before John knew it, it was Friday. It suddenly became very quiet in the group as they all stared at John, except for Sally who wouldn't exactly look him in the eye. Anderson looked like he was going to erupt and Mike just shook his head.

"Alright?" asked John, getting slightly nervous in the group.  
"No, we're not alright." said Anderson, then gesturing at his own face, "Does it look like I'm happy John?"  
"Well, he's more angry than the rest of us, I'm just disappointed," said Sally, "How was it getting to school today? Didn't get lost like last time?"  
"No," said John, unsure of where this was going, "I've been alright all week."  
"And why is that John?" asked Sarah.  
"I just got used to the place that's all," said John, even though he knew he was lying, "Why? What's wrong?"  
"Nothing's wrong, why do you think there's something wrong?" said Anderson, getting off the radiator and stood in front of John, "We just want to know why you didn't listen to us."  
"What do you mean?"  
"The first advice I gave you John was to stay away from Sherlock Holmes." said Sally, joining Anderson's side.  
"Just leave it out Sally-" interrupted Mike, shuffling in his seat closer to John.  
"No, me and Anderson won't leave it out. I told you to stay away from Sherlock Holmes and what do you do? You completely ignore what I say,"  
"I- I don't know what you mean, you two are off your head." said John, keeping up his defence.   
"No. We're not off our head, you are," Anderson stabbed his finger into John's chest, "My dad gives me a lift to school and every day I see you and that THING walk together when Sally told you not to!"

It was true: both him and Sherlock still walked together in the morning and in the afternoon. His memory wasn't great, but it wasn't terrible either. If he was on his own, John could quite easily get to school but still be a minute or two late. It looked as if Sherlock didn't mind either, even if he told John to stay away from him. They didn't talk to each other, the only thing they did was when they both turned to look at each other, they smiled and nodded towards each other and continued walking.  
"So what If I walk with him? It's not exactly a bad thing."   
"Oh Jesus here we go-" Sarah put her head in her hands and sighed rather loudly in annoyance. She was sat on the other side of John, keeping quiet for most of the time.  
"Not a bad thing?!"said Sally. Anderson was sarcastically laughing at John, Mike and Sarah, "That guy's a freak, alright? You stick around with him for too long and you're going to end up getting hurt."  
"Hurt? Why would I get hurt?" asked John.  
"He isn't the kind of person you would have a laugh with. Look John, you're new here and the last thing you need is to be friendless. Us four are the only people you have to call us friends. We like you John, you seem like a nice bloke to be around. Take our advice and stay away from him."

John thought about it for a moment. It was true, in that school they were the only people he could call friends and since it was his last year at school, it would be stressful to lose them. But yet he didn't want to listen to them; Sherlock seemed nice, even though he rarely talked much and now and then insulted John. However, when John looked over at Anderson's face, he suddenly realised what would happen if he didn't listen. If Anderson could beat up Sherlock, who says that Anderson can't do the same to John?

"Fine," said John, but then rather loudly said it again, "Fine! I'll take your advice and stay away from him, happy now?"  
"Not yet John. You have to promise us that you won't speak to him again," said Sally.  
"This is all a bit over the top, it's not like he's a disease."  
"Look John!" said Anderson, getting rather impatient, "Just swear on your life that you won't get involved with him,"  
"Look, swearing on my life is a bit-"  
"SWEAR ON IT JOHN!"  
"Okay, just calm down," said John, "I swear on my life that I will not get involved with Sherlock Holmes, now are we done here?"  
"Yes, it took a while John. You just have to realise we're good people to have on your side; bad if we aren't." said Anderson. Sitting back down on the radiator, they all started to talk about what they were going to do on the weekend. John thought of walking around town to get a feel of the place; to know every nook and cranny visible to the naked eye. The only problem was how was he going to do it.  
"So I told them that I swore my life on it, which I didn't mean, which is pretty obvious," said John as he walked down the road with Sherlock at his side, "He seems really pissed off with you, Sally also."  
"I don't know why that is. All I said to them was that they were sleeping together and had been for a year. I didn't threaten them by telling the teacher. I said nothing which could tick him off like that."  
"Are you kidding me? Sherlock, you can't just say stuff like that,"  
"Why not? It was perfectly obvious to me, that's all."  
"Well it wasn't nice. Impolite? Yes. Nice? No." said John, "But really though, Anderson and Sally?"  
"Why do you sound so surprised?"  
"I don't know, just a bit of an eye opener really."

The roads were packed with impatient drivers and tiresome passengers as they got caught in the Friday's rush. Drivers had the sudden urges to beep their car horn even if they weren't moving, and it did them no good either. Pedestrians were also in a rush to get to wherever they are going, constantly barging into Sherlock's or John's shoulders without a mutter of apologies.  
"Is that why you suggested we go a different route home? Because you don't want Anderson to see you? Bit cowardly don't you think?" said Sherlock.  
"It's not cowardly, I mean it is but have you seen Anderson? Well, obviously you have, so you know what he's like when things don't go the way he wants things to go. I just thought he could have done the same thing to me as he did to you."

Sherlock didn't reply to that, instead he shrugged his shoulders and continued to walk. It seemed like John hurt Sherlock's feelings but it couldn't have been that, he didn't look like the type to get his feelings hurt so easily. John thought he should say something to break the awkward silence growing between the two.  
"So what are you doing this weekend?"  
"Home probably." said Sherlock, "I guess I have to be polite and ask what you're doing this weekend?"  
"Well, I thought of having a walk around town and get to know the place. Know where the best places are to hang out and stuff and hopefully learn the route off by heart."  
"It will take you more than two days to fully memorise the place. London is full different routes and places to be discovered, it took me three years to get it memorised."  
"Well you could show me around!" said John openly. Even Sherlock stopped at the sudden outburst of the offer, luckily they were just outside John's house.  
"Show you around?"  
"Yeah, like you can show me the different places. Like where the best libraries, shops, cafes or hangouts are. Since you know where you're going most of the time I thought it wouldn't be a bad idea."  
"Like all weekend?"

"Yes, well no. Not 24/2 but for a couple of hours. We could go to that Angelo place you were talking about, make an outing out of it!"  
Sherlock slightly hesitated, still looking shocked about what he had just been asked. John could see that Sherlock was a bit shocked, which surprised him. It was the most oddest expression John has seen from him yet.  
"Fine." said Sherlock, but shouted it was more what he did.  
"So yeah?" For some reason, John was getting slightly excited.  
"Yeah, why not? I guess it's better than spending all weekend with Mycroft. 11'o clock on Saturday?" said Sherlock.   
"I guess it's a date then." said John before walking into his house, kicking himself about what he just said.


	6. Chapter 6

While pacing back and forth in his small, secluded room, John was cursing the moment he said 'I guess it's a date then'. In 30 minutes, Sherlock was going to ring on his doorbell and in that moment, he will have to face Sherlock even though he really didn't want to. This was the reason why John wished he had Sherlock's phone number; they could schedule another weekend, any weekend besides this weekend. It didn't make any sense as to why John was acting like this; never in his life had he been more nervous than he is now, starting school was trouble-free compared to this. It was only Sherlock: some random stranger he met a week ago when he was lost. Somehow time caught up with him when he heard the doorbell ring downstairs. John restrained himself from running downstairs to meet him, it could look needy so he let his mum get the door. Checking himself in the mirror, he heard his mother call him.

"John!" she called from the stairs, "Sherlock's here!"  
"Right! Give me a minute!" he called back, unplugging his phone from his charger and putting it in his pocket before running back downstairs to meet them.  
"Hey Sherlock!" said John.  
"Before you leave, promise me you'll call me every 2 hours. I mean it John Hamish Watson, when I say every 2 hours I mean it." said his mother, pointing firmly at the clock on her watch.  
"Mum, I'm 15 years old. I think I'm capable of looking after myself."  
"I know John, just be careful out there. You've only been here for two months, you could get lost. London is a very big place full of god knows what."  
"Which is why I have Sherlock to show me around," said John. With a wave of his hand, he headed outside with Sherlock following behind, "I'll be fine! I'll see you later!"

As his mother closed the door after watching them walk down the street, John gave a sigh of relief as his quick walking pace lost its speed.  
"Sorry about that. She's alright, don't get me wrong, but she can be over the top at times. Mind you, what would you expect from mum's, eh?" Sherlock seemed quieter than usual, which was very worrying, perhaps terrifying, "What's up?"  
"I assume you mean-"  
"Yes, I mean how are you feeling?"  
"Fine, you?"  
"Yeah, alright. Friday night wasn't so bad, we decided to celebrate my first week at a new school by going to the pub. That meant having to have responsibility for my drunken family."  
"Especially your sister, after breaking up with Clara . Long distant relationships don't usually work out. Over in a matter of weeks."  
"I haven't even told you about my sister being gay, how did you even know that?"  
"Before you came downstairs your sister passed your mum and I. Your mum asked Harry how she was doing and she replied by saying she was fine. Then she asked how was Clara and your sister started to go on about how she used to love her but hoped to never see her again."  
"Jesus, really? Sorry you had to be there for that."  
"It's fine. Anyway, this whole tour guide business is starting to get boring. What do you need me for exactly?"  
"You've been here longer than me, and since you're kind of my friend I thought we should get to know each other more," said John.  
"Friend?" Sherlock gave out a mocking laugh, "I don't have friends."  
"Fine, and since you're kind of an acquaintance to me. Is that better? Or are we still strangers? Even though you know every single detail about my life."  
"Well I wouldn't say every detail, being a bit over dramatic there John. I mean I don't know where you were born, where your parents were born or where your sister was born. The rest I have a brief understanding of."  
"Well, that's great then isn't it?" said John, who couldn't contain his laugh, "You don't know where I was born but you know everything else? That's perfectly fine."

After walking for about 30 minutes, John properly stared at Sherlock and what he was wearing. Compared to what John was wearing: a pair of jean and an old jumper from under his drawer; Sherlock was far more formal for a Saturday. Usually, an average teenager would wear something like what John was wearing at that moment, but Sherlock wasn't. Instead, he was wearing something very alike to his school uniform . Sherlock wore a black, newly ironed blazer with a white shirt and a black pair of trousers that were a little too tight for him. Over all this, Sherlock wore a thick, black trench coat and a black scarf. Considering the weather was clear and sunnier than it was in summer, he still decided to wear the coat which amazed John even more.

"Alright there?" said John. Sherlock just looked at him with confusion, "You're not in the slightest bit hot wearing that?"  
He never did get an answer because at that moment, Sherlock stopped in his tracks and turned to face a building which they nearly passed. When looking up at the sign, he realised that they had reached the restaurant Sherlock was talking about, practically full of Saturday shoppers taking a quick brake from the rush. Still-just like in the weekday- they were getting shoved by people passing them, it's something they can't escape.  
"Why are we here?" asked John, checking the clock on his phone for the time. It was quarter to eleven.  
"You wanted to see Angelo's, so here we are. If you want to go inside that's fine by me, it's on the house here. Well, for me at least."  
"Well, we could have an early lunch I guess. Sure, why not?" said John. They both walked in, Sherlock holding the door open for John, and were met by the strong smell of meats and types of dishes which danced in John's senses. While waiting in the queue for a table, a man with fairly long hair and a thick stubble walked up to them with two menus at hand; he was smiling at the pair when he walked up to them, which frightened John in a way.  
"Well if it isn't Sherlock Holmes!" he said with delight before pushing them out of the queue and into the centre of the room. Behind him, John could hear the complaints from people in the queue, "Haven't seen you since your birthday! Getting taller already are you?"  
"Yes I am, that's what happens when you get older." said Sherlock. They were then sat at a table beside the window, giving them a full view of the restaurant and the street. The sun was blazing hot, it's ray of light shone on their table but out of view from their eyes.  
"Hasn't changed one bit, have you?," said Angelo, handing them both menus, "Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free. On the house for you and your date."  
"Look I'm not his date," said John in his defence, but Angelo took no notice.  
"This kid got me off a theft charge." said Angelo with pride, patting Sherlock firmly on his back.  
"This is Angelo. Last year I proved to the police that Angelo wasn't house-breaking when in actual fact he was."  
"And why would you do that?" asked John.  
"It was Anderson's house," said Sherlock, "I wasn't going to say anything."  
"He cleared my name," said Angelo.  
"Yes I did. Any you won't do it in the future, will you? Because I won't back you up again."  
"I won't, I have learned from my mistakes and I swear to never do it again. Anyway, I'll get a candle for the table, it's more romantic." said Angelo, before walking into the kitchen, just in time before John could refuse again.  
"So anyway, about this whole I don't have friends thing, why do you say that?" asked John while glazing his eyes over the menu in delight.  
"The whole idea of friends sounds dull."  
"So you don't have friends then? Do you have people in your life who you like? Hate? Girlfriends?"  
"Not really my area," he said, throwing the menu to one side, leaning forward and placing his elbows onto the table.  
"So you don't have a girlfriend then?"  
"Girlfriend? No, like I said, it's not really my area."  
"Oh, right. So does that mean you-" the tension between them grew uneasy, "have a boyfriend then? Which is fine by the way-"  
"I know it's fine."  
"Oh, so that means you have a boyfriend then." asked John. Sherlock just shook his head at him, "Right, so you're unattached, like me then. Okay then."

Hoping that the conversation would drop, John signalled over Angelo so that he could order his food. When he reached the table, John told him what he wanted while Sherlock just asked for a glass of water. A few minutes after Angelo left the table, Sherlock briefly tugged at the collar of his shirt as if it were tight on him.

"Look John, I think you ought to know that I consider myself in a relationship with my experiments and while I'm flattered, I hope you should know that I'm not-"  
"No! No, God no. I was...just asking, that's all. Just wondered, it's all fine." said John, lowering his head so that Sherlock couldn't see him blush with embarrassment.  
"Thank you."  
If it wasn't fast enough, John's food and Sherlock's drink arrived at their table before anyone could make any apology that they hoped to say. The steam from John's plate hit his face as he breathed in the satisfying aroma of the spices in the dish. His senses already kicked in as his mouth started to water from the smell of it; picking up his fork, he stabbed it into the first piece.  
"Anyway, that was a bad example you used." said John, taking a first bite of his meal, "Experiments only last a week or two."  
"It a complicated relationship." said Sherlock, taking a sip of his drink.

Both smiled to themselves as they helped themselves to their order. They have only been out for an hour and already John has made a mess of things. It did make him feel miserable though, that Sherlock didn't consider him a friend even though they were sat in the middle of a restaurant talking as if they were friends.   
What's the matter with having friends anyway? It's like Sherlock saw them as a weakness; best to avoid at all costs. John's idea was the more friends the better. Hopefully-John thought- by the end of the month he can convince to Sherlock that having friends can protect you; even if it won't take a month, maybe a year, John wasn't going to give up easily.


	7. Chapter 7

The library itself was a small building that stood in the middle of a fairly deserted street. When it came to the shop's popularity, there were very little people making the trip inside. This did come across John's mind as he entered with Sherlock at his side. That was the problem with people these days; hardly anyone visited the library anymore. Just recently, he read in the newspaper that they were closing down 100 libraries in England this year. The thought of it was quite upsetting to John; to people, they might just be books but to John, it was his main source of entertainment through childhood. It's what got him through the good times when the bad times were so rough.

Even though it looked small and cramped on the outside- being surrounded by more modern building- inside the shop was a much different story. In every corner and open space was a bookshelf overflowing with books of different genres and interests. The old, book smell filled the air and soon enough, John's lungs. Breathing in with bliss, he entered inside and followed Sherlock. Each book held a story, dying to be discovered in the over packed shelves with the rest of them. At the very front of the building, a woman sat at the reception desk looking at a computer as if it was an ancient transcript. The pair of glasses which sat at the tip of her nose was pushed further towards her eyes as she tried to focus on the screen. 

"Mrs Hudson," said Sherlock, getting her attention. Smiling at the pair, she got up from her seat and rushed over to Sherlock and gave him a hug which he happily returned.  
"Sherlock, I haven't seen you since you were this high," she hovered her flat hand out in mid air, just below Sherlock's shoulder, "What brings you here then? And I don't believe we've met."  
She was now looking at John with wonder, as if his presence was a pure mystery, "John Watson, I've just moved here and Sherlock's just showing me around." said John, shaking her hand as lightly as he could, as if she was fine china.  
"Hello John. I'm Mrs Hudson. You won't need me to show you around here, you have Sherlock for that. If I wanted to it wouldn't be any good, for some reason I'm getting these pains in my hip. The doctor's told me to rest on it and it still does no good. Well, don't let me keep you, have a look around. You two are out of the few that have visited this morning."

Looking around the room, John was stuck for choice on where to go first; it was like getting stuck in a labyrinth that he didn't want to leave. The sections which stood in front of him were studying books, history and romance; neither of those sounded interesting to him.   
"So what do you want to do now?" asked John, who started to walk further into the library with Sherlock.  
"It's obvious you're trying to look for something here. A type of genre perhaps?" said Sherlock, randomly he picked up a book from the shelf and put it back, "Didn't think romance was your preferred genre?"  
"No it isn't. I hate those types of books. I'm actually looking for-"  
"Science Fiction and Fantasy? Well first of all you're in the wrong place. It's this way." When they reached the end of the bookshelves, Sherlock took a sharp turn to the left and walked further down until they reached a small section in the corner.

"You can look around you know, you don't have to follow me," said John, realising Sherlock was still standing next to him, "Do you have a favourite kind of book?"  
"Crime, mystery, classical and psychology. And I don't need to look around; I've read most of these books anyway."  
"You can't seriously mean all of these books; you know that's virtually impossible. And if you did, you must have started reading these when you were like five or something."  
"And?"  
"Wait, so you're telling me you have read all these books starting when you were five?"  
"Yes," said Sherlock, slightly irritated but amused at John's reaction, "I don't see what's wrong with that."  
"Okay then." Whenever John saw something which looks remotely interesting, he picked it up, scanned its content and put it back in its place, "What time is it now?"  
"Thirteen past one, why?"  
"I just wondered, that's all. Wait, so how long have we been out? We couldn't have been out for that long; we left at eleven didn't we?"  
"Nearly two hours. Oh yes, you have to call your mother, don't you. Well, don't keep me from stopping you."  
Grabbing his phone from his pocket, he dialled his home number and waited for someone to answer. Looking over to Sherlock, he mouthed 'sorry' at him before he heard a voice on the other end of the call.  
"John! Is that you? You're alright are you? Please tell me you're all right, if you're not then come home right now."   
"Mum! I'm fine. I'm absolutely fine, stop panicking."  
"I'm sorry John; I'm just worried that's all. There's nothing wrong with being worried about my only son is there?"  
"No, of course not."  
"Good, well call me back in two hours and be careful out there. Tell me all about what you did when you get home alright?"  
"Yeah, fine. Call you later." And with that, John cut the call and put the phone back into his pocket.  
"Well that's out of the way." asked John, moving towards the crime section of the library. "What do you like about these kinds of books?"  
"Crime? Well, the first few chapters are why I read them. By the time I've gone through a third of the book I already know happens at the end. Sometimes I only read up to a certain amount of chapters and then plan out what will happen."  
"Why don't you just read the whole thing? Saves you more time." said John, picking up the closest book available at arm's reach, "Anyway, where do you want to go now?"  
"John, I'm supposed to be the 'tourist guide' here. Where do you want to go? Personally, I would like to return home to finish my experiment on different animal's eyes reacting with different solutions."

"You could show me!" said John, slightly louder than it should have been. Actually, he wished he hardly said anything at all. Putting the book back in its place, he turned around and started to walk towards the exit.  
"What?" said Sherlock, following closely behind him.  
"Well you keep talking about these different experiments you do, so maybe you could show me, since you're always talking about it."  
"John," said Sherlock, sounding quite concerned but intrigued at the same time, "Are you inviting yourself to my home?"  
"Wait, no. When you put it like that it sounds as if I'm being a stalker, which I'm not. I mean I only met you on Monday. No, I'm just suggesting."  
"Well, I guess if you wanted to-"  
"What?"  
"Well, I wasn't going to show anyone my experiments because no one has ever been interested in them before. But if you're asking, then I don't see a problem with it. Just as long as you don't touch anything, contaminate anything or move anything around then you can stay for as long as you need to."  
"Oh, alright then. I hope I won't be any bother, I know how important these experiments are to you and all that."

Finally, they reached the reception; they said their goodbyes to Mrs Hudson before they left library and started to walk towards Sherlock's house. In theory, what they were doing was going a little too fast. After all, they only met each other on Monday, like he said. So why was he asking to go to Sherlock's house? What John could agree with was that his curiosity of Sherlock was getting too close to the tipping point.   
Soon enough, people at his school will know about this. They will constantly mock him, possibly torment him for even knowing Sherlock's name. What if they find out that he was going to Sherlock's house? What if Anderson finds out? Well, one thing's for sure, if Sherlock was the way he is now, then what are his parents going to be like?


	8. Chapter 8

Speechless. That was John's instant reaction when walking into Sherlock's living room. Well, it wasn't really much of a shock to him; in fact, he was expecting something formal and sophisticated. It wasn't a large room when he stood in the middle of it, but the way the colours of the furniture and walls merged together made it seem like a work of art. The dark black of the leather chairs and sofa fitted well between the oak tables and bookshelves. Besides John's house, every ornament was set in a continuous pattern; there wasn't a painting or book out of place. In a way, John felt suddenly out of place, as if he didn't belong in a place like this. The sudden urge to run down the stairs and out of the building was tempting to John, but a sudden stir from the sofa made John and Sherlock froze in their places.

"Sherlock?" a hand lifted off the arm of the chair and angled towards them, "Is that you?"

"Yes mother it's me." he walked over to her, who was sitting in front of the fire; doing nothing other than stare at the flames flicker up the chimney, "How are you feeling?"

"Oh I'm fine Sherlock. And I see you brought company," his mother turned around and faced John. She was everything John expected: Sherlock's eyes, Sherlock's curly hair and the shape of his lips; she was the spitting image of him, "John Watson I presume?"

"Yes Mrs Holmes," he walked over to her and took her hand to shake, "It's a pleasure meeting you. To be honest, Sherlock's told me little about you I'm afraid."

"I can say the same for you," when John tried to pull his hand away, she gripped his hand more firmly, "You have recently moved here from Durham after being involved in a violent attack that injured you. I can tell because of the way you walk and your accent seems less common that people with accents from London. You were stabbed in the shoulder, even though you're limping. You're limping is because you're still in trauma, the nightmares don't help either. The bags under your eyes show that. So you've recently moved from Durham to start a new life with people who won't know about your past...am I right?"

Sherlock must have told her, he must have. How else could she know about that, unless this weird talent of theirs runs in the family. Finally she let go of his hand and awaited patiently for him to reply.

"Yes, well not exactly about everything. But the rest you were spot on."

"What do you mean 'not exactly'? What did I get wrong John Watson?"

"Well, instead of Durham, I was born in York. But I do have relatives who live in Durham." he said, trying not to hurt her feelings, "But I have to ask, did Sherlock tell you anything about me?"

"Of course he didn't. You know teenagers, well you are one yourself. Very private and secretive people who won't even tell their own mothers about their first friend."

"First friend?" asked John, who was looking at Sherlock, "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, what I'm saying is-"

"Experiments! I'm sure I had some experiments to do. Can't stay long mother, have to be moving on now." said Sherlock as he walked towards the door, pushing John along with him. However, they were stopped by the door opening in front of them, blocking their way. Through the door entered two men, both were dressed in dark grey suits and were now staring down at John who was feeling definitely out of place.

"Hello Sherlock, you didn't tell me you would be having a 'friend' around," the taller man walked past the two and towards Sherlock's mother. The man bent down and gently kissed her forehead before retrieving to the whisky cabinet to pour himself a drink, "so you must be John. Before you ask how I know your name, you should know that I am immensely connected to the British government and so is Mycroft. Well, he will be with time."

"Sherlock." said Mycroft plainly before copying his father's moves. He kissed his mother's forehead before pouring himself brandy from the cabinet, "John."

"How's the diet?" asked Sherlock before turning around to face his family, "Or have you given up already?"

"Fine. The diet's going fine. You know John," he occupied the chair next to his mother, "you're the fourth person to put up with his 'talent' for more than four days. The rest of us suffer silently, even if we do have the same deduction skills as he does. He just likes to show them off more. But families have to 'stick together' apparently. Are you close to your family John?"

"Wait, me? Well- um," John was starting to panic. He was regretting not making a run for it at the very start.

"Mycroft, that's quite enough," Mr Holmes was now walking over to John and Sherlock, smirking at them both who were slowly walking towards the door, "It is true though. We do have the same deduction skills. For instance, I know that you have the urge to run out of this room and back home to where your 'normal' family are. You keep reaching for your phone in your pocket and checking the time on the wall, you have certain times on when you have to call your mother but you feel like calling her right now don't you?"

Something about this room seemed very uneasy. Sherlock's father had just called his family normal, which they were far from. Everyone in the room seems to know every little detail about his life. Mycroft keeps looking at the pair, but mostly at John. Mrs Holmes just sat in her chair and continued to stare at the fire while Sherlock continued to stare at her.

"Like I said," said Sherlock, opening the door for him and John. Straight away, John rushed out of the room and waited for Sherlock to follow, "I have experiments to do. "

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Surprised. If John had to describe his first reaction to Sherlock's bedroom it would be surprised. It was nothing like Sherlock. The floor was hardly visible due to the fact that it was piled with clothes, books, papers and John swore that he could see a human hand. In the corner of the room was a simple bed; it was the only thing in the room which look the slightest bit clean. On the other side of the room was a lab setup on his desk.

"So this is where I have spent most of my life so far in. Don't step on anything you're unsure about and yes, that was a hand you saw. It's best if I don't explain, it saves the trouble." said Sherlock, walking over to his desk while chucking his coat on the floor.

"Well this is unexpected. I was expecting something-" he paused, while trying to step over unknown objects on the floor. With one swing of his legs, he fell onto the bed after standing up for most of the day.

"Clean?" He laughed, "Far from it. Why? Does it bother you?"

"Oh no, of course not. It's your room after all."

John looked over at Sherlock, who was starting on his experiment in the far corner. Talking to break the tension seemed like a bad idea; Sherlock looked as if he was lost in what he was doing. This left John to just sit where he was and do nothing but stare at Sherlock and whatever he was doing.

"So-" John lifted himself off the bed; his leg was already tensing up, "This whole experiment will different eyes and stuff, how does that work?"

Looking up at John, he gave out an irritated sigh and grabbed a flask next to him, "I start will different types. Here I have dog's eyes, human eyes, fish eyes, etc. Then I have different chemicals such as hydrochloric acid, dilute sodium hydroxide or nitric acid. Then I would mix the two see what happens."

"And?" John moved closer towards the table and was now standing closely on the other side of the desk. It seems as if Sherlock didn't even notice what he was doing, considering that was one of his rules: to keep away from his experiments.

"Well most solutions make the human eyes bloodshot. Sodium hypochlorite changes the colour of dog eyes, considering this chemical is mostly found in bleach. Most of the chemicals I got from everyday objects such as drain cleaners, rat poison. Even air freshners. Experimenting with the fish eyes wasn't a reliable test, considering that the chemicals would make the eyes waste away. Overall, I can say that the chemical which has an effect on any type of eyes the most is the Sodium Hypochlorite, but I can't be sure so I will have to-"

Sherlock was interrupted as a pair of lips collided with his own. Taken aback, he held up his hands in defence as John moved his lips, trying to get a reaction out of Sherlock. The taller boy didn't know what he was doing, but John did; John just wanted him to shut up. John was the only one who was moving his lips; the whole situation was very awkward, but even though Sherlock wasn't reacting to the kiss, he didn't stop. John couldn't bring himself to look Sherlock in the eye; closing his eyes really tight so that he couldn't look. Who was he kidding? He has repeated this to himself for the past week: He had only just met Sherlock on Monday. In theory, he was kissing a random stranger; this wasn't right.

How could John lie to himself? He wanted this. He had always wanted this. Ever since Sherlock deduced his life story, John knew that Sherlock was someone you shouldn't let go of so easily. His talents were breath taking. His appearance was amazing. His intelligence was fantastic. Sherlock was perfection. John hoped that Sherlock would suddenly realise that there was something between the two, but as he opened his eyes, his hopes shattered.

It was Sherlock who stopped the whole situation. Pushing John back, he stared at the shorter man in disgust, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. John's back hit the wall hard. Staring up at Sherlock, he felt as if he made a terrible mistake. But it was too late, he couldn't take back what he had done.

"I- I'm- Sherlock-" John couldn't bring himself to finish his sentence, because he was already pushing past Sherlock and running out the flat as if his life depended on it.


	9. Chapter 9

Wondering through the streets on his own, John thought over and over again what would happen now after that unforgetting moment. It was now 5'o clock; he had spent at least two hours trying to get back home, but it seemed so difficult. Or was it three hours? He wasn't entirely sure. Most of the buildings looked the same; nothing looked familiar to him. Often, he would try and stop someone for directions, but no one would stop to even give him the time of day.

It was his own fault anyway. When he was suppose to be learning directions and routes around town, he was instead distracted by Sherlock. John couldn't believe it. Well, he couldn't believe many things. The idea of being gay never came across John's mind; he had girlfriends before, the only problem was the relationship didn't last. Old friends used to joke about him being gay, due to the fact that he wore clothes they considered not manly enough.

Reaching for the phone in his pocket, he wanted to call his mum to pick him up. Instead, he was starting at a black screen which refused to turn on. There was no power left. He was in a random street in London with no way of contacting for help. For the second time that day, John was starting to panic.

As it got darker, the streets started to fill with people on a night out, already drunk out of their heads. An alley was coming up towards him, so instead of staying on the main street like his father told him to, he turned to the left and walked further into the darkness. Being in the passage made John feel slight nauseous with fear. But as he passed a set of ladders on his side, he realised this could be his way back home. Wiping his hands on his shirt, John firmly gripped the bars and started to pull himself up. At times he tried to cover his hands with his sleeves, but failed whenever he nearly slips.

Once he reached the top of the building, he climbed off the ladder and stood up straight; looking at the breath-taking scenery before him. The sun was settling down behind the buildings, a ray of orange and red striking the sky as darkness started to appear from above. If he could, John would have stayed there forever, constantly watching the top of London gleam with life as his troubles would melt away. But this was merely a petty wish.

"Do you plan on standing there forever?" A voice appeared from behind him. Swirling around-his leg tensing from the movement- towards the voice, he was greeted by none other than Sherlock, who appeared to be sitting on the edge of the roof, legs dangling over the side.

"Wha- What are you doing up here?" asked John, cautiously moving closer towards him; remembering the last time he did this he was pushed against a wall, "And how did you find me?"

"My family wouldn't stop questioning me about why you left in such a rush, even thought they had a basic idea. You couldn't seem to hide your flustered cheeks or dilated pupils well enough. To answer their question I left the flat and told them I would be back later. I didn't come up here, intending to meet you here. I sat here because it's out of the way. The only reason we are here now is because of pure coincidence."

"Is it though? Look Sherlock," slowly, trying not to lose his balance, he sat down next to Sherlock but as far away from him as possible, "I'm sorry about- well you know. What I did wasn't called for. I was stupid and shouldn't have put you in that situation. I hope this doesn't ruin anything, because you seem like an alright even though you act like a dickhead."

"John I am willing to offer you a proposition. If you wish to accept then good, but if not then it would put us in a terrible position." said Sherlock, ignoring John's insult.

"Go on." John shuffled closer towards him, but not too close so Sherlock wouldn't be uncomfortable.

"My mind works in a way in which normal minds don't. I have a method of retrieving a piece of my memory and permanently deleting them from my hard drive. I am willing to forget the whole thing that happened earlier on and never speak of it again."

"Really? You can just forget something like that and never speak of it again?"

"Yes, like I said. Do keep up John. If you're willing to forget, then I'm willing to forget."

"But what if I don't want to forget?" asked John, receiving a heavy, irritated sigh from Sherlock.

"Then I will still delete it from my hard drive. It only takes a few seconds, if I delete it we can forget the whole thing and continue with our lives."

"Fine. Whatever. Just do what you have to do, I guess I'm willing to forget. Like you said, it only takes a few seconds, right?"

"Precisely." said Sherlock. Resting his elbows on his knees, Sherlock leaned forward and placed his hands below his chin and closed his eyes. John guessed Sherlock was already in the process of deleting it from his memory, so John tried to do the same. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on deleting it from his own mind. Reaching back to the memory, he tried to recover it and remove it permanently. Thinking he had done it, he opened his eyes and saw Sherlock was still in the same position as he was before.

It was at this moment that John saw how calm Sherlock looked with his eyes closed. John loved the way the sun reflected onto his face, how his raven hair was swaying in the- Wait, what was he saying?

"Done!" Sherlock swung his legs back up on the ground and got up from his seat.

"Done? So that's it?" asked John, following Sherlock's movement before joining at his side.

"Hate to sound like your mother but shouldn't you be home now?" Sherlock started to walk on the roofs again just like they did before, only this time their pace was much more slower, "Unless you don't know where your home is."

"Right again Sherlock. I know you say I should learn these streets off by heart but-"

"Not to worry. However you do seem know a bit more about the area. Your house is only over there." Sherlock was right, somehow, he was only a street away from his house.

Luckily for them, they just reached the front door of John's house before the alley they just left was flooding with drunken adults who probably spent most of Friday night and Saturday morning drinking. Walking ahead of Sherlock, John rushed towards the front of his house and waited for Sherlock to catch up.

"You know," he opened the gate and then closed it behind him, "Remember what I said about showing me around all weekend? Well, I probably have stuff to do tomorrow so I'd be busy."

"Not to worry John." turning on his heel, he slowly continued to walk down the street. Circling around again, he faced John while walking backwards and called, "See you on Monday!"

After Sherlock turned the corner and out of his sight, John continued to stare down the street. Was it because of fear? Or shock? John didn't really know, the day has been confusing enough as it is. And what did his mother mean about his 'first friend'? It must have meant that he was Sherlock's first ever friend, even though that sounds hard to believe.

"John!" he turned to find his mother looking as if she'd seen a ghost. If John would have guessed, she had been crying, but he wasn't gone for that long, was he? John didn't have time to prepare himself before his mother ran up to clasp him in her grip.

"Where the hell have you been?!" she released him and pushed him into the house, "I've been worried sick! Your father's been worried sick-"

"I haven't been worried sick!" his sister was sat at the bottom of the stairs, sneering at John who was being pushed by force, "In fact, I hope you stayed wherever you were and gave us peace for the night, but I couldn't even have that."

"Shut up Harriet!" she slammed the door behind her and pointed next to Harry. Dropping his phone on the side table, John nudged Harry aside and sat back; his head resting on the next step, "Now John you said you were going to call me every two hours, and what do you do? Yeah, you did it the first time but after that-"

"The battery on my phone died and anyway, nothing bad actually happened to me, so I don't know why you're like this."

"I'm a mother. It's my job to be worried; to be scared; to be caring. Why can't you see that? And ever since what happened in York-"

"I thought we weren't going to talk about that anymore. Look-" he got up from the step, his sister tripping him on the way, and walked over to his mother who was pinching the bridge of her nose, "I know you're worried, sometimes I am too. Actually, while out there I was terrified. But you have to trust me. You won't always be there to watch me, so at times I'll have to look after myself. Alright?"

Raising her head, him mother looked up at John. Looking into her eyes was the most hardest thing he could do; in a way, he let her down and this truly troubled him, "Goodnight mum."

"But it's not late. Stay downstairs for a bit. I'll put the kettle on make you a nice cup of tea?"

"No, you're alright. I'm tired anyway, I'll just have an early night." Kissing his mother's forehead, he grabbed his phone before walking up the stairs, making sure to kick Harry along the way, "Goodnight!"

"Fuck off!" shouted Harry.

"HARRIET!" shouted his mother, "Goodnight John!"

John guessed it was one of those nights where he wouldn't be getting any sleep, which didn't bother him, anything to avoid the nightmare's away. It never came across John's mind that his ceiling was extremely plain, as he stared up at it. The coffee keeping him awake had now turned cold, but he still drank it for the caffeine.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Closing his eyes, he tried yet again to forget what happened earlier on. When John thought about it, the whole process was very simple. He imagined himself retrieving the memory and placing it in the bin of his mind. If only it was that easy, simply throwing something away would save him the trouble, but he couldn't. How could he? The thought of them both kissing was still in the back of his mind. The way he rested his hands on Sherlock's cheekbones. His soft lips against his own. He even remembered how much he wanted it to happen.

Forget the whole thing? Like that was going to happen.


	10. Chapter 10

Weeks went by; he finally reached the last day of the first term. Even though every Y11 student had to revise for their practice exams for when they get back, everyone was excited. Not because of the countless hours of getting lost in notes that they don't understand, but because of the Halloween party coming up. Apparently is was something that Y11's do from different schools. Y11's from different schools would meet up at this one venue and were held there against their will there unless they were drunk out of their heads, then they were allowed to leave.

After watching his sister for much of his adolescent life, getting drunk wasn't on his list of things to do. Seeing her drunk put John off the whole idea of even looking at the stuff, but since it was a party that everyone was going to, he couldn't say no in fear that people wouldn't accept him. It wasn't all bad, Sally and the rest were going to be there. However, Sherlock was refusing to go; to him, social events reminds you why you never made friends with those people in the first place. John tried to persuade Sherlock to go; he was even begging him to go at one point, but Sherlock said he would rather stay at home and sit with his family and socialize with them instead.

It seemed true when Sherlock said he deleted 'that moment' from his memory, because after that Saturday, they never spoke of it again, or made any jokes about it, to Sherlock it was simply forgotten. But not to John, everyday he remembers that moment and the thought of it makes him so embarrassed that he can't look Sherlock in the eye.

The school day finished and people-mostly Y7's- were running out of the school gates as if they'd been released from prison. Taking his new route, he met up with Sherlock on the corner of an seemingly empty street far away from the school, as it was isolated and unlikely to be passes by anyone John knew. The sense of being seen gave John this sudden adrenalin that he longingly desired, the fear of getting seen by Anderson was exhilarating, after the weeks of getting to know him, John wasn't so afraid of Anderson anymore.

"Are you sure you're not going to this party next Friday? Apparently there's usually 300 people who go, which sounds unlikely. I mean, how can you have 300 people in one place, it's hard to believe." said John.

" I'm certain that I'm not going to this 'party' everyone's going to. It's not going to be a party, it's more like a room filled with idiots."

"Well, I'm going. So does that make me an idiot?"

"Don't get offended John. Practically everyone is." said Sherlock, who didn't get a look at John's stern look.

"Well on another note. We were talking about colleges that we're going to apply for. I said I might go Collin Hills College because it's close. Where are you going to apply?"

"I've been looking at colleges in Kensington."

"In Kensington? So you're not going to one near here?" said John, slightly feeling anxious, "But what about your mum? Won't she be a bit upset?"

"Firstly yes, I'm not going to a college here, why would I go to one near here? Secondly, my mother wouldn't be upset. She will understand and if she doesn't, she will have to."

"Well," said John, slightly taken aback, "Kensington's alright I guess, but you won't know the area. How are you going to socialize? You won't know anyone there."

"Why are you so concerned?"

"I'm not concerned, why would I be concerned? I'm more concerned about how your mum might react when she finds out, you have told her, right?"

"Why should I? We won't have to apply for colleges until next month and until then, I'll keep looking."

"Well If you do choose a college, what are you going to do?" by now they had reached John's house, but instead of Sherlock walking home like he used to do, he entered the house with John. It started a week after John kissed him; at first he thought it was unusual, but afterwards he didn't think much of it and welcomed Sherlock inside without asking questions.

"Psychology, Chemistry...not sure about my other two options but I'll have time to think. You're taking Biology, I guess? Since you have such an interest in becoming a doctor." both were now walking up the stairs and towards John's room. When Sherlock walked inside and sat on the chair next to the desk, John followed behind and closed the door behind him.

"Well I was thinking of joining the army when I was older, you know, like an army doctor." John chose to sit opposite Sherlock on his bed; dumping all of his schoolwork on the bed to finish off for homework.

"The army?" said Sherlock, copying John's movement of dropping his books on the floor. For a moment, John swore he could hear Sherlock's worry, "Really?"

"Well yeah. What's wrong with the army? My dad was in the army, but he's retired now, the same as my granddad."

"Still, it doesn't mean you have to follow in their footsteps."

"Forget me being concerned, why are you concerned?"

"I'm not, I just didn't see you as the army type. The army should be interesting enough."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

The army was always John's first option for what he would do as a job. Of course he knew the dangers of it, but like his father said: It might be dangerous, but when you remember what you're duty is, it's all worthwhile. His mother-on the other hand- wasn't so keen on him joining, but that was what John expected. When Harry found out, she didn't really care, but he could tell she was concerned just like his mother was, or maybe that was all a part of her act.

The time was now half past four; both were still sat in their seats doing homework to get it out of the way. Even Sherlock was making an effort, which amused John since he was constantly hearing Sherlock complain about the work school sets them.

"Do you want to stay for tea?" asked John, "It won't be any bother."

"You know that I don't have time for food consumption so why would you suggest it?"

"I'm going to be honest. My mum just wants to know more about you, god knows why. I think it's because she thinks you're the only person I sit with at school. I haven't told her that you go to a different school but I thought-"

"Fine."

"Fine?" said John, just finishing writing his last sentence before getting up and putting his books on his desk, "So you're staying then? As long as your mum doesn't mind."

"Well, I thought 'fine' meant yes. I'll text my mum to say that I'm staying here for tea,"

"Okay then! I'll just-" said John, shuffling his feet towards the door, "tell my mum you're staying for tea."

Sherlock Holmes was staying for tea. Why did it sound so odd? It was also frightening for John, since he knew about what Sherlock does to people he first meets. Well he already knew about his sister's drinking problem, but what if he says something to his dad? At times his father had a temper, which he would often show on a daily basis. It did scare John at times, but the more it happened, the more John pushed it to the back of his mind.

The only outcome of the night that John was hoping for was that: Sherlock wouldn't drive any of his family up the wall; his father won't lose his temper and he could convince Sherlock to go with him next Friday.

All of this in one night...what time did John say it was again?


	11. Chapter 11

Why was he the only one panicking? Out of every single person sat at the dining table, why did it look like he was the only one who wanted to flip the table and shout at life; stating how incredibly horrid it's been to him. They haven't even ate anything, all of them-except his mother- were sitting at the table staring at whoever was across from them. At times he has dreaded his mother's cooking- considering she's usually late from work- but now he was waiting with baited breath. Looking over at Sherlock, he wondered what Sherlock was thinking, possibly the same thing as John's thinking.

"John!" called his mother from the kitchen. Instantly, John knew what she was going to ask, he just didn't want to do it in the fear of leaving Sherlock which his family, "Help me bring out the food!"

Leaving Sherlock with his sister and father, he walked into the kitchen to only be greeted by a swarm of steam and smoke attacking his face from whatever was in the oven. Surprisingly, his mother was running around-now and then cursing to herself- putting food on plates.

"What's in the oven?" asked John as he ran to the window to let the fumes out.

"Nothing's in the oven John, just hand these out and come back to me." she waved him off with her hand before disappearing somewhere else in the house, leaving John slightly confused and concerned as he had never seen his mother act like that before. Juggling the plates on his arms, he walked down the hall and into the dining room and gently placed the plates of food on the table before scanning the rooms looking for her. Eventually, he found her taking out something dark from the oven and placing it in the bin. When she closed the bin's lid, she turned around and faced John with relief.

"All right, there was something in the oven. But it doesn't matter now, let's just go in." she said before pushing John into the dining room, "I hope you're not allergic to nuts Sherlock."

"Why would you ask that? Are there any in the food?" asked John as he took his seat next to Sherlock, "Why would you put nuts in food?"

"Well, it was on that show wasn't it? You know, the one with them two blokes on those bikes. You know the other day they went to Cornwall and tried something called Stargazy pie."

"What's that?" asked his father, trying to hold back his frustration brought on by her.

"It's like a pie with fish heads poking out of the top of the crust. I personally don't like fish but the way those men described it made me fancy cooking it, but tonight I just stuck to something-"

"So Sherlock," said his father as he tried to cut up the pieces of burnt food on his plate, "John doesn't really talk about you much, god knows why. So why don't you tell us yourself?"

Oh god, this was the moment he wished not to happen. John was only worried that Sherlock would talk too little, or too much. Or that he would boast, and according to Harry, she hates people who boast about their life, unless it was her talking.

"Well, I've lived in London mostly all my life. I live with my parents and older brother and I'm on my last year of High School." he said, taking a bite of the food before pushing the plate away. Instantly John froze as he waited to watch his mothers reaction, but surprisingly, she didn't notice.

"Oh? And what high school is that then?" said Harry, leaning forward and staring directly at both Sherlock and John. So she knew that Sherlock doesn't go to his school, "You know, because John's told us nothing about you. You are from John's class, aren't you?"

"Well not exactly Harry, he goes to a different school close by." said John before Sherlock could reply.

"Wait, so he doesn't go to your school?" asked his mother as she also stared at the two, "Why didn't you tell me this John? I've always said you shouldn't keep stuff from me. I'm not angry, I just wish you told me."

"What a disappointment. She can't admit it, but she is angry with you and I can't blame her. Shame. On. You." she said, emphasising each word.

"Now Harry-" said John, but was cut off by Sherlock's burst of laughter.

"Disappointment?" said Sherlock, amused with himself as he leaned back on his chair, "That's a bit vague isn't it, not after what happened last night?"

This was it, John thought. It's over, everything was gone for. Sherlock's probably going to take five minutes describing her drinking problem, his mother's going to be crying in the corner and if wasn't enough, his dad's most likely going to kick Sherlock out of the house and demand that John should never go near him again.

"Yeah, last night was a bit hectic. I wasn't NOT going to go to a club and drink until the early hours of the morning. Is that a problem?"

"No, but there is a thing called too much drinking. Since we've sat here all you've done is eye up the bottle of wine here," said Sherlock as he picked up the bottle and examined it, "17.5% of alcohol in just a small bottle of wine. Bit too much don't you think?"

"I can drink as much as I want to. And I don't need you telling me otherwise." she said, snatching the bottle away from Sherlock and pouring herself a glass.

"Of course not, goes against the whole purpose of free will, doesn't it?" Sherlock took a long sip of water before turning to look at John's father, "But anyway, enough about your daughter's drinking problem, John's not told me much about you. Care to fill me in on missing gaps?"

The one thing John wished for right now was for his chair to swallow him up and erase him from the room. Flexing his hands, he placed his elbows on the table before running his hands in his hair. God knows what his mother or father was thinking. To tell you the truth, he didn't really want to know.

"Well," said his father. Looking up, he saw his father's hands curl together into a tight ball next to his plate, "John should have told you some stuff already. Moved to London because of my- job and all that."

"Your job? Well, we all know that isn't true Mr Watson so there's no point in telling me nonsense about how your job had something to do with the fact that-"

"Sherlock!" shouted John, covering his hands with his mouth, realising that he was a bit loud in interrupting him, "Um, can I have a word for a minute?"

They both got out of their seat; John walked into the kitchen with Sherlock following behind him. Closing the door behind them both, he leaned against it and gave a sigh of frustration. Sherlock heard this and turned around to look at John.

"Not good?" asked Sherlock, putting his hands in his pockets.

"A bit not good." said John, "Look Sherlock, my parents get easily offended. My father more than my mother. Harry's just a constant bitch. They don't know that you know about what happened because I didn't think it would be important. I mean, are you trying to get yourself killed? You couldn't even last five minutes without pissing people off."

"It's not my fault John that your sister is an alcoholic; your mother is a terrible cook and is blind to the obvious and your father is uncaring with a short temper. I don't even know why I'm here to be honest."

"You know what? I don't know either. You know I thought I would be friendly by inviting you here, considering you tell me that you don't have friends. Fine, I get it. You don't have friends and that's perfectly fine with me. But ask yourself: why am I still here? You say most people hate what you do and push you away whenever you open your mouth, but I don't."

"Look John-"

"No, you listen Sherlock and you listen well. I have put up with all your shit and its only been two months, not even that. You could at least treat me with a bit of respect, you ungrateful git."

"John I'm-"

"And why are you here? You hardly eat and you just told me that my family are the family from hell. Fine I admit it, there not a walk in the park but neither are yours. Your dad is a psychopath. Your brother is a psychopath. Your mum is just your mum. And what makes it all worse is that you are so alike that it's unbelievable. You even hate to admit it yourself but it's true, you and your family are just alike. So tell me Sherlock, why are you here when you could be with your family?"

To John, all that seemed like a mouthful; it just all came out at once. Sherlock's face was unreadable, as always. That also made John slightly annoyed, that Sherlock could be completely emotionless to situations like this.

"John, I'm sorry if I've offended you, but I think I should leave." said Sherlock. That was the first time John had ever heard Sherlock apologize, and even if it was, it just sounded fake. Like he was saying it to spare feelings even though Sherlock knew he was right. John stepped away from the door and opened it again. Both of them walked to the front door; John took Sherlock's coat and bag and handed them to him. John nodded at Sherlock, before opening the front door. Sherlock swiftly moved outside before slamming the door shut. Again, that was the second time John wished never happened. If life was a human being, John would be willing to punch them in the face.

\----------------------------------------

Sherlock never said sorry and if he did, it was only to win an argument by shocking the other. But this time, he actually meant it, and that wasn't normal. So as he sat next to his mother in front of the fire, he thought of the reasons as to why he meant it. Sherlock agreed to himself that what he said was entirely true, and John knew that, but usually Sherlock would feel a sense of accomplishment after speaking his mind; this time he wasn't. Truthfully, Sherlock felt like an idiot.

"So how did you find John's family?" asked his mother, "I hope you didn't upset them Sherlock."

"Well, it's too late now isn't it." said Sherlock, "I spoke my mind, you've always taught me that."

"Yes, I know I did Sherlock, but if speaking your mind is going to upset a couple of people, you should consider what you are going to say. Understand?"

"But it's the truth. Surely John knows that."

"Sherlock," she leaned her head against his shoulder, yawning from the soaring heat in the room, "Of the fifteen years you have been on this planet, you have never had a friend that has stayed for more than a week. You're very lucky to have John. Very lucky indeed. I presume he talked a bit about your father and Mycroft?"

"He said I'm just like them."

"In a way, you are. But is that such a bad thing? Even though your father might not show his love, he really does care for you. You know if anything happened to you, he would never forgive himself. Mycroft also, he cares for you because your brothers." Sherlock merely shrugged at his mother, as if what she said was hard to believe.

"Mother?" asked Sherlock, leaning the top of his head on hers, "When you had to go to the doctors, it wasn't serious was it?". For a while, his mother didn't say anything, which gave Sherlock the idea that there was something she was hiding.

"Of course not Sherlock, there's nothing to worry about. Just a little check-up, that's all. Don't worry about it."

Don't worry about it? How could he not worry about it? Over the last couple of months he's noticed that his mother sometimes forgets where she is. She is constantly going to the doctors; always hurting herself so easily. He knew his father and Mycroft knew something about it and he hated the idea of them hiding a secret from him. He knew she was lying, and that was what frightened him the most.


	12. Chapter 12

He felt ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. There he was, on the 31st October, stood in front of a house which looked more expensive than his own with a bag of alcohol he could sneak out of the house with; about to enter the house with no idea of where his friends might be. John was imagining that the whole night was going to be filled with drunken idiots who would constantly ask if you 'wanted a fight'; that was exactly what it was.

Entering the house, he scanned through the rooms, looking for Sally and the rest of them. Walking through the house was more of a struggle than looking for them. Since it was 10pm, most people were drunk enough as it is, shoving past John and tumbling over empty bottles. In the back of his mind, he was regretting coming here in the first place; he only knew a few people and they hardly talked to him even at school.

"John!" someone called in the kitchen, "John! Over here!"

Looking ahead, he saw Mike and Sarah stood near the doorway in a small group of people; bracing himself, he started to walk more confidently through the hall until he reached them.

"You looked a bit lost there John," said Sarah, passing him a drink, "It's hectic, isn't it? Sally's not here yet, but Anderson's gone off somewhere."

"Uh, yeah it's quite hectic? Why are there so many people here?" he asked as he swallowed down his drink in one. Usually he would never drink, actually he swore on his life that he would never drink. But as he looked at the pair who were waiting for him to take a drink of it, he felt he had to. Sarah noticed that his glass was empty, so she filled it again with something she found from the fridge.

"Well it's kind of a tradition here. Most people start some of their exams next month so in theory; this is the last half term for people to not worry about exams and that, even if some people have mocks next week. Usually there are more people, but most of them are outside." said Mike, "But it's freezing outside so we're staying in here."

"Have you been revising John? I've done a bit here and there, but I have literally learned nothing from it." asked Sarah while looking through the cupboards, picking something up before putting it back in its place, "They're doing afterschool revision when we get back so I might go to them, or not, it depends how I'm feeling."

"I think I'm alright, some of it I don't know but the rest-" said John, but stopped as he glanced over to the hallway. Both Mike and Sarah noticed this and turned to look also; all three surprised to see none other than Sherlock walking into the room they occupy. The whole room fell silent as Sherlock walked towards the three of them who were staring at him in shock. Yeah, John was glad Sherlock was here, but he could have come at a better time; it was like Sherlock never got changed, again he wore the same suit that John last saw him in.

"Mike. Sarah." said Sherlock. Each replied with a nod before shuffling closer to the doorway full of people. Now, it was just him and John standing face to face with each other, as people stared at the pair from afar, "John."

"Sherlock." said John, "Didn't think stuff like this was your cup of tea."

"It isn't." Sherlock moved next to John and leaned his back against the fridge door, "Mummy thought it would be a good idea to host a 'social get together', so I said I had some things to do instead. Anyway, I thought you weren't suppose to be seen with me."

"Well I'm not supposed to."

"So why are you still here? And you do realise we've attracted an audience." both turned their heads to find that not only Mike and Sarah, but Sally, Anderson and people from both their schools were staring at them. For John, it was getting tiresome; at that moment, they were judging him because he was talking to Sherlock without insulting him. It was like it was compulsory to insult Sherlock whenever you got the chance.

"You know Sherlock." Again, John gulped his drink down in one go. Once he finished, he grabbed the closest bottle of beer and poured himself another glass, "I have reached that moment in my life where I just don't give a shit anymore. I generally don't care what people think, is that a problem?"

"John?" said Anderson, the only one who was walking towards the pair, "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"What about?"

"I'd rather talk to you with just the group," he said, pointing to Sally and the others.

"Is it important?" asked John. As he looked down at his glass, he noticed that is was again empty. He looked through the cupboards until he found another bottle to fill his glass with. Why did the glass seem to get more and more empty?

"Yeah. It's very important. You know why we want to talk to you." As John looked over at Anderson, John could sense the feeling that he was about to lose his temper; that's what he was hoping on.

"You say 'we' when you actually mean 'I'. I don't see Sally, Mike or Sarah standing by your side to help you out. I know that you and Sherlock had an argument, but all that is in the past," John could swear that the sound of his voice sounded slurred, "We're older now; we know better. So Anderson, can you do me a favour and just calm the fuck down?"

Laughing would be far from appropriate at that moment, but John couldn't help it. People have been telling him this and that; his family is breaking apart; he was falling hopelessly in love with Sherlock who would probably never return the favour and he had just created a new set of enemies, judging by the way people looked at him.

Again, he looked down at his glass and saw that it was again empty. How many glasses had he drank? It couldn't have been more than two; John never drunk and if he did, he would never in his life drink more than two, would he? Two bottles sat beside him, both empty with no other source of alcohol in sight of where he stood. Definitely more than two glasses worth, but in the state he was in, he felt like two glasses wasn't enough.

"You know what?" said Anderson, walking to stand face to face with John, "You're just as much of a freak as he is. You know I tried to be nice, polite even. I accepted you. Sally accepted you. Mike and Sarah accepted you and what do you do? You spit in our faces and tell us to 'calm the fuck down'. Well you know what, screw you, stay with the psychopath, does it look like I care?!"

And with one last poke in John's rib, he turned to walk away, barging into the crowd, shortly followed by Sally, "Are you alright John?" asked Mike as he walked towards the pair, looking rather concerned for his friend.

John gave out a choked laugh as he drank his drink, "Shouldn't you be following him? Since I 'spat in your faces'."

"Look John," Sarah joined the group and grabbed the glass from John's hands, "You've had too much to drink, you don't know what you're saying."

"I know exactly what I'm saying Sarah. I really hate Anderson, do you know that? I've hated him since the first time I met him. You two are alright; Sally's borderline. If you don't like the fact that I talk to Sherlock, then go and follow Anderson." John realised that Sherlock has stayed exceptionally quiet; not giving sarcastic remarks or insulting people, he wasn't really sure if this was either good or bad. Of the pair, Sarah was the one to walk away from the group. Before leaving, she stopped at the door and looked back round at the three before walking away.

"Sherlock," said Mike, snapping Sherlock back into reality, "Just thought you should know, you're alright with me. You too John. I don't really care if you two are friends or not, doesn't change the way I think of you." he grabbed a new bottle of beer and handed it to John before walking towards the door, "But be careful John. Sherlock, you know what Anderson's like. Who's saying he won't do the same to you too."

Once Mike left, Sherlock and John were the only two left in the kitchen, since the crowd has moved to another room. John was having mixed emotions. For starters, he was happy that at least someone was on his side and that he didn't have to keep hiding anymore. But at that moment when he looked at Anderson as he stormed out the room, he feared for his safety. Already, he was stabbed by someone he knew; he didn't want it to happen again.

\----------------------------------------------

It was getting towards midnight as John consumed more and more alcohol until his heart's content. Sherlock-however- was stone cold sober, watching John and making sure he didn't make another enemy at night. As John looked at Sherlock, he felt incredibly jealous and wished that he never took that first drink. Through the night, he tried to find Anderson or Sally so he could watch his back more clearly without having to constantly turn around and keep his eye out for them.

"John?" Sarah walked over to John, "Can I talk to you for a minute? Alone?"

"Yep, fine. Sherlock-" John gently pushed Sherlock towards a group of people and handed him his glass, "Try to not get yourself killed by saying those things you say- you know, those deducing skills." With one last wave of his hand, John was pushed by Sarah out of the room and towards outside in the garden. What used to look like a pleasant image of nature and greenery had now been spoiled by the scattering plastic cups and pools of vomit seen near bushes.

"John, can I just ask why you're friends with Sherlock?" said Sarah, who was constantly tripping on various dug out holes in the ground. Eventually, they reached a spot further away from the house that was unoccupied by anyone else, "It's not like Sherlock is the type to make friends or even have any."

"I don't know Sarah, I really don't. But why are you friends with Anderson?" A spot was clear on the ground and John took the opportunity to sit down, Sarah watched John sit down before she copied his moves, taking the spot next to him.

"No! I asked you first. Doesn't he piss you off though, he must have done that 'guessing' thing with you already, hasn't he?" she held out her bottle which John willingly accepted.

"Yep, he's done that already. But even you can't say that what he does isn't fantastic, because it is. And it's not guessing, he actually looks at you and tells you your whole life story. So excuse me if I find that interesting and amazing." he took a sip of his drink before passing it back to Sarah, "Right, so I answered your question, so answer my question. Why. Are. You. Friends. With Anderson?"

"At a point in my life, I was like you. Someone new. Didn't have anyone to call a friend. Then Sally comes along and asks you to sit with her at lunch, so now-" she chucked the empty bottle behind her into a nearby shrub, "you're stuck in this continuous cycle of having to spend every single bloody moment with them. Can I tell you something John? I'm tired of it too. I wish I went to a different school but you know what? It's too late. I'm on my last year before college and I'm stuck in this pathetic excuse for a school with no hope of having a god damn future. I just-" she put her head in her hands and started to violently cry. People were starting to look at the pair, so John thought it would be right to put his arm around her, "-hate my life."

"No. Look Sarah- just shut up for a minute. First of all, you don't try. I've seen you in lessons, you do absolutely nothing, you do fuck all. We're both on our last year of school, so we have to make this count. If we fail, we can only blame ourselves, maybe the school too. You told me you wanted to be a doctor, then be a doctor. I know I sound like one of those 'head in the cloud' teachers, but the least you can do is try. Am I right?"

"I- I guess so. John-" she leaned into John's arm and sighed, "You are the most kindest person I've ever met, even if you did just insult me a second ago. Why can't people be like you?" she rubbed her face roughly with her hands and looked behind her at the bottle in the bushes, "I really hate drinking with a passion."

"You're not the only one." they both laughed and looked at one another; the sudden urge to kiss each other was overwhelming, and so they did. When their lips first met, it wasn't gentle or loving like the way many movies demonstrated them. It was unsynchronised; there was no emotional love put into it and if John was honest, he felt rather sick. He didn't even know why he was kissing her in the first place when it should be Sherlock instead. Sherlock instead. If people ever found out this, he can say goodbye to having a normal life with normal friends and start to get used to having a few enemies.

"Wait, Sarah-" he tried to push her away, but a hand reached the back of his neck to pull them closer, "Sarah, just stop."

"No." was all she said, putting both of her hands at the back of his neck, clinging onto him tightly. John looked over and saw a group of people watching them from the back door, laughing and whispering at the drunken pair. In this group, he saw not only Mike but he also saw somebody else. He saw Sherlock. Sherlock was staring back at him, but he wasn't emotionless as he usually is, John could sense there was something wrong with him, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Using his hands, he pulled her hands away from him, got up off the ground and started to walk away from her, ignoring the calls from Sarah, "John!" she called, getting up and running over to John. She gripped his arm forcefully and brought him to a stop, "What are you doing? Don't you love me?"

"No. I don't love you Sarah. You're drunk. I'm drunk." he could feel the eyes of Sherlock and the rest staring down at him as he rejected Sarah's plea.

"I know what I'm saying John. I love you and you feel the same. Just admit it!" she started to tug on his arm, trying to reach for another kiss. It was amazing how alcohol can change a person for the worse, "Why can't you see what's in front of you!?"

"Sarah, I don't love you. Get that in your thick skull." he was trying to drag himself away, but pulling Sarah along with him.

"But why?! Why don't you love me?!" she started to aggressively sob, tears streaming down her face as became desperate for his love. The sight of Sarah crying in front of him made John want to comfort her, but also push her away for the scene she was causing, "Just tell me why don't you love me?"

"I don't love you because I love Sherlock!" answered John, loud enough for everyone to hear. Loud enough for everyone to judge.


	13. Chapter 13

"You- like Sherlock?" asked Sarah with disgust as her eyes wondered elsewhere as she pushed past him and into the house. John stared blankly at where she stood. The thought of turning around to face everyone else felt gruesome. He could feel their eyes aim at him. At that moment, he wasn't really thinking about how Sarah felt, but how Sherlock felt. Slowly he turned around to face the crowd; the sight wasn't welcoming.

The first person he saw was Mike, who looked utterly disappointed in him. It was as if their friendship had suddenly ended there. Luckily, Anderson or Sally weren't stood in the crowd, which made John smile with relief. The smile soon faded once John noticed Sherlock following Sarah away from the crowd and through the house. His first instinct was to run to Sherlock; ignoring people's insults and jokes.

"Wait Sherlock!" John called, stumbling past people who glared at him with amusement, "I can explain!"

But Sherlock didn't stop. Didn't let him explain. Sherlock pushed past a group of people who stood near the front door; his coat brushing past them with John following only seconds behind. The alcohol was taking effect more viciously as John walked faster and faster through the front door and down the garden path.

"Sherlock!" shouted John, going through the gates and down the street, "Stop being such a hormonal twat and let me explain! Please!" He didn't even look back. Not even once; this hurt John more than anything else.

Somehow-after minutes of walking and running- they both ended up near Baker Street. The street lights glistened high above them as they illuminated the streets, little drops of rain seen against the light. Unfortunately, the streets were packed with people dressed up for Halloween. Now and then, some random person would jump infront of John and try to scare him, but he ignored them as he continued down the street.

As he saw Sherlock take a turn to the next street, John picked up his pace and ran to catch him up. Once he turned the corner, he ran up to Sherlock and put his hand on Sherlock's arm and turned him around so they faced each other.

"Don't touch me." he said before shaking his arm off John's grip. John couldn't get a glimpse of Sherlock's face before he stormed off again, he was hoping that he could see something in Sherlock that could give him a sense of relief, but there was nothing.

"Sherlock, look I'm really sorry. I wasn't thinking. I'm drunk. Actually wait a minute-" he started to walk faster so that John could reach Sherlock's side, "I knew exactly what I was thinking. I love you Sherlock and-"

"No you don't, you told yourself you wouldn't drink to your sister's state and now look at you."

"No, don't put the blame on me. It's kind of your fault too." somehow they both managed to walk into an alley behind a group of houses. Both continued to walk down the passage until Sherlock stopped in front; there was a dead end. This was it; John wasn't going to let him get away without talking to him, properly talking to him.

"And why is it my fault John?" he asked, still facing the wall, "Why is it my fault that you got drunk and started proclaiming this ridiculous idea of being in love with me?"

"I kissed you before, and don't pretend that you don't remember, because I most certainly do. Right, you 'deleted it' from your memory, you know what I say to that? I say that's utter bollocks," John raised his hand and nudged Sherlock back with force, "You remember, admit it."

"I don't know what you're talking about John, now would you kindly leave me alone and-" Sherlock was cut short as he was pushed back onto the wall by John. His right arm pinning Sherlock's chest down.

"No, I won't leave you alone! You know, you should be smart enough to know that I'm not lying!" John rested his head on his right arm and sighed deeply, "Why do you think I'm lying? Really though, because I know I'm telling the truth so why don't you believe me-"

"Because no one loves me!" Using his hands, Sherlock grabbed the arm pinning him and swapped sides, so that Sherlock was pinning John to the wall instead. John stared at the eyes burning into him intensely, and finally looked at Sherlock. Sherlock looked scared. The same type of being scared when you are in serious danger, but John realised that Sherlock looked scared because he did that to Sherlock.

"Well, that's a bit stupid, isn't it? Let's forget me for now and talk about your family. You're mum loves you. You're dad and Mycroft love you, they just have a weird way of showing it. Mrs Hudson loves you in a motherly way. And then there's me, even though you don't believe me. Well you know what-" John tried to release himself from Sherlock's hold; "I don't care if you hate me for the rest of my life because of what I said. I'd be pissed off at first with you, but then I'll leave you to it."

"Yes, my family love me. I understand that, but you-" he slowly let go of John and stepped back, "You have this affection for me, and I have told you John time and time again that this isn't my area and I thought you would be clever enough to understand that."

"What if you're lying to yourself Sherlock? What if you're just telling yourself that this isn't your area just to save yourself from something?" Slowly, John walked past Sherlock; staring at the open gap at the end of the passage, "From the pain, maybe? I don't know. And you know what-" he turned to face Sherlock and stared at anywhere besides his eyes. If he was to look at Sherlock in the eye, he wouldn't be able to keep his pain to himself, "You're probably never going to forget this. Yeah, you'll delete it, but it will still be there, in the back of your mind. You will remember, even if you tell yourself it didn't happen."

The sound of heavy raindrops hit the pavement and pools of water. John closed his eyes and raised his head to feel the downpour on his face, the feeling of the cool, heavy drew hit his warm face seemed to bring back sense into John, which alcohol once took away. He never felt his mind so cleansed before, the rain seemed to freshen him and shake him back into reality.

"So now you know. I- John Hamish Watson- love you. Tell yourself that I'm lying, but you'll only be lying to yourself. I don't know why I love you. I guess it's because of how you are. I mean you're clever. You're funny, in a dark sort of way. I don't even know why I'm saying these things. You won't even care." he took one last look at Sherlock, before turning his heels and walking back out the narrow passage, "I don't think I should see you anymore. Not after what you told me. Goodbye Sherlock and have a nice life."

Walking away from Sherlock was the most painful thing he had ever done, even the stab wound couldn't compare. Once everyone finds about what happened between Sarah and John and what John said, he would be alone. He will have no one. Yeah, his family will always be there to support him, but who else? His last hope was Sherlock, but even that has gone down the drain. He walked slowly, hoping that Sherlock would stop him and say something reassuring. John hadn't even thought about what Anderson might do, once Sarah tells him everything. From now on, he was going to have to watch his back. He was alone in this. His life has taken a turn for the worse.

"John!"

The sudden voice made John freeze on the spot; he wanted to turn around but didn't have the willpower to do it. Sound of shoes against the pool of water got closer to John and suddenly he was forced to turn around.

"Not really my area." Sherlock stood in front of John, looking paler that he usually did. Both were drenched in water, but that was forgotten.

"Yeah, you've told me that." said John, who looked at Sherlock with confusion, "Why are you telling me again?"

"What if I was just telling myself that?"

"Excuse me?"

"My mind is like a hard drive. It has to be protected because it is fragile. It's weird to say this John, but I think you're right. The chemistry of love is incredibly simple, and very destructive. Once it affects the mind, it affects the person. When it does damage on the person, it can damage the mind, leading to a long process of healing. And I can't let that happen to me." said Sherlock, grabbing John's upper arms.

"Wait, you think I'm going to damage you?" All of this was suddenly overwhelming for John, "If I hurt you I hurt...your mind? Is that what you think will happen?"

"Of course that is what will happen John, that's why I've never gotten myself remotely close having sentimental feelings."

"Why do you think I'll do that? I'm not like that. I know I love you, and I'm not going to deny myself."

"But you'll get bored of me. That's what happens. People get bored or they lose interest-"

"And you think I'll lose interest in you? You've got to be kidding me. You have got to be the most interesting, smart, incredible, eccentric and amazing person I have ever met. I am never, ever going to hurt you like that. I wouldn't even dream of it." said John, grabbing Sherlock's upper arms tightly, "You know it's funny, I only met you two months ago, and I'm saying all this. I sound like a hormonal teenager."

"Maybe that's because-"

"You know Sherlock, it doesn't matter." said John. Both of them laughed, but found it difficult to stop. The past hour was ridiculous for both of them. Never in their lives had they thought they would be in a situation like this. As they both looked at each other, the laughing died down and they were both brought back into the reality that was standing in the middle of an alley in the pouring rain.

Sherlock was the first to speak, "Okay."

"Okay?" said John, more or less puzzled, "What are you talking about?"

"This idea of love, John. I say it's not my area, but I can make changes." John smiled faded as he held Sherlock's arm tighter.

"Wait, so what you're saying is-"

"What I'm saying is that I have never had sentimental feelings for someone or had the desire for these feeling, but you-John Watson- are exceptional." Sherlock spun them round and slowly pushed John to the closest wall.

"So you agree about what I've been saying?" All of this seemed unrealistic to John, he couldn't believe it. Just moments ago Sherlock was denying him again, but now it was a different story.

"Yes, but like I said, I've never had feeling for someone before, this is all new to me. You have to help me with this."

"Sure, what do you need help with?" asked John. The presence of Sherlock being so close; their faces close, their hair and clothes soaked in water.

"First, you have to understand that since I've never had these feelings, I've never had sexual intercourse-"

"Neither have I." said John, quicker than usual.

"-or have the desire to have sexual intercourse. Second, physical contact I can handle, to a certain extent. Holding hands in public? No. Kissing I can put up with. I don't want you to call me your boyfriend. I hate that term and hope you understand to not use that to describe us. Don't speak of this to Mycroft or my father; I don't want them to know so that they would give me a lecture on why I should just give it up."

"I completely understand and agree to your 'terms'. No offense Sherlock, but your dad and brother are more psychotic than Anderson is."

"Thank you for understanding John." said Sherlock. Both of them let go of each other as Sherlock gave John space. John smiled foolishly. So this was it, what John had been hoping for for the past months had finally happened, and John couldn't be any happier.

"So what do we do now?" asked Sherlock, perplexed by his new change with feelings.

"I...really don't know." John kicked a pool of water around to occupy himself. His hands started to get cold, so he shoved them into his pockets for warmth.

"Well, we could do that thing we did, you know before-"

"You mean kiss? You want us to kiss?" said John, amazed at Sherlock's change of mind.

"Isn't that what people do? Once they are at a beginning in a relationship?"

"Well, yes. But I didn't think you would want to do that."

"Who says I don't?"

"Okay then," said John, wasting no time before placing his hands on Sherlock's cheekbones and pulling him down as their lips were brought together. It was slow. It was innocent, but it was what John wanted most. Instead of pulling back as he did before, Sherlock moved his hands to John's face and accepted John's kiss willingly. Both smiled into the kiss. John used his instincts and decided to move his mouth, hoping Sherlock would do the same but he didn't. Using his hands, John pushed Sherlock away, but was still so close that they were inches apart.

"You're suppose to move them too you know, don't just leave me to it." said John, laughing at how Sherlock knew little about this.

"Oh, right. I knew that." said Sherlock. This time he grabbed John's face and kissed him back, moving his lips accordingly with John's. John sighed into the kiss as he was overcome with dizziness and need. Once he saw Sherlock's eyes close, he freely closed his own, letting the kiss control him. He held onto Sherlock's arms as if it were his life and pulled him closer until the back of John's head hit the wall. It seemed like hours before John let go of Sherlock's arms and pushed his chest back, their lips losing contact. John looked up at Sherlock and saw that his eyes were wide open and glaring down at John. With one gentle push, John separated them both so that they could gather themselves.

"Can I just ask?" said John, who brushed himself of dirt before walking out of the alley with Sherlock following behind, "Why did you change your mind? I mean, one minute you say it's not your area and now this? It's all going a bit fast to be honest."

"All those things you told me, all those things you said I was. No one had ever said those things to me or has shown me feelings as much as you have done. I know I sound hopeless but I'm being honest. And when you said you think we shouldn't see each other anymore, I didn't want that to happen John." The rain had abruptly stopped. The streets have died down of people and the roads were silent, "You're too important to lose."


	14. Chapter 14

Looking in the mirror on the Monday morning, John stared deeply at himself; focusing on the little details on his face. As long as it passed the time. He hasn't seen Anderson or Sally or the rest of the group since the Friday, and he really wanted to keep it that way. He hasn't even seen Sherlock since Friday, once they left the alley and Sherlock walked John home, they hardly talked. There was no knock on his door on Saturday and there was no knock on his door on Sunday.

It was amazing enough that John actually remembered something about that night, considering he'd never been so drunk in his life. Some would say that he was lucky to remember; only a part of him agreed. Scooping water into his hands, he splashed his face to wake him up; to prepare him. He grabbed the towel and dried himself before walking downstairs and into the kitchen. It was the same routine every day, only today he stayed at home for a little while longer than usual. For once in a long time, he actually sat at the table and ate breakfast with them. Even his sister noticed that John was acting rather odd.

"You alright John?" asked Harry, dipping her spoon into her cereal, "You look more odd than you usually do."  
"Why do you care?" he asked, sharply.  
"I don't care John. Why would I care? I just thought that it was custom for an older sibling to ask their younger sibling if they're all right. Answer me or don't, I couldn't care less."  
"Aren't you going to be late for school?" asked his father; straightening his tie before grabbing his keys, "I could give you a lift if you want."  
"No, it's alright. I'll walk."  
"Do you think you'll get to school in ten minutes when it usually takes you forty-five?" said his mother. She pulled John from his seat and pushed him and his father through the kitchen door, "I don't think so. You're father's going to take you in and that's final."

Both were shoved out of the house and into London's street. They both looked at each other and sighed with tiredness before heading to the car. John asked as he checked his watch, "Aren't you usually in work by now?"  
"I know. I know. Tell me about it. And then there's the traffic you get in the morning, so it's likely that we're both going to be late, but worry not. I'll just call my boss and tell her I'm going to be late."  
"Oh, you're alright. But what about me then? The last time I was late for school I was humiliated by the teachers and half of the bleeding class."  
"Not my problem John." he started the car and pulled out of the driveway. They were only driving for five minutes until they hit a large queue of traffic getting packed in the small street.  
"Shit! Shit! Shitting shit!" his Dad slammed his palms into the steering wheel before hitting his own head on the wheel, "I know I said I'd call my boss but I really don't need this now!"  
"Me neither! And what happened to not worrying? There goes your plan of NOT worrying. What are we supposed to do now?"John asked, checking the time on his phone. The chances of the traffic clearing and him arriving at school on time was slim; highly unlikely.  
"I have no idea John. Wait one minute, can you just stay quiet while I call the office?" he said, not really asking as he pulled out his phone and dialled his work. John did as he was told and kept his mouth closed while his father chatted away on his phone, "Yes. Yes. I know- Thank you so much-Yep. It won't happen again. Around ten hopefully. Alright, bye." his father said, putting down the phone.  
"Should we call my school?" asked John as he searched for the number on his phone.

"Yeah, just pass the phone here." Quickly John tapped the numbers into his phone and handed the phone over to his father. Both waiting patiently for reception to pick up the phone, "Hello, I just wanted to call to say my son is going to be late for school today. Why? Well we're stuck in traffic and looks like we won't get there until ten. I know, it's just- Yes it is important but- Alright, again sorry about this."  
His father gave one last 'sorry' on the phone before putting the phone down and tossing it to John, sighing over the trouble of calling, "Well, they said you won't be here for long if it happened again. I tried to explain but they wouldn't shut up. Remind me why I sent you there?"  
"Why are you asking me? Anyway, it's too late now. I can't go anywhere else." said John. Looking out of the window was what he did while he waited in the traffic; his father was typing furiously on his phone, probably something to do with work. Seeing everyone's lives go on as normal while he was sat there doing nothing but stare out the window made John feel like running back home, just to stay in his room until he was dragged out by his own two feet.  
"Well that was a waste of time-" said his father, shoving his phone into his pocket. It was an eerie silence before his father turned to him, "So...this 'Sherlock' that you seem to be spending a lot of time with...what's his problem, eh?"  
"He doesn't have a problem."  
"Are you sure about that John? Remember the way he talked to us, at dinner? If you weren't there I would have done something. But even you can admit there's something wrong with him."  
"Nothing's wrong with him!" said John sharply as he turned to stare at his father.

"Alright. Alright. Calm down, I was only asking." he saw the traffic ahead move forward, so he put his car into drive and moved it closer to the queue, "I can't believe he talked to your sister like that, he had no right. I mean who does he think he is? He's one cocky bastard isn't he?"  
"Well, I wouldn't say that." said John, getting furious with his father, "And he's right. Harry does have a drinking problem and you know it. You're just blind of the obvious, or you do know and you're trying to tell yourself otherwise."  
"Don't you dare talk to me like that John! You know full well that your sister is not an alcoholic."  
"Oh, who's the one lying now? She's pissed off her head all the time-"  
"I wouldn't say all the time John-"

"When I say all the time, I MEAN all the time. You know, Sherlock's right about another thing. We keep lying to people and one day people will find out about why we moved. Isn't it better to tell them why we moved in the first place so we don't have to stop hiding?"  
"Oh? So you want people to know that we moved to London because you were bullied for being gay!?" his father slammed his hands into the steering wheel and gripped on the handles, "DO YOU?!"

His dad promised that he wouldn't take it so harshly. It was hard when John had to 'come out' to his family; technically he didn't even do it himself. John wouldn't necessarily call himself gay, he still liked both genders. When his friends found out, they did their best to keep it a secret from the school.  
The only problem was that a secret can't be hidden forever. After a month of telling his friends, he came to school one day to find everyone talking behind his back and stare at him in lessons. It wasn't until the last lesson of the day that someone teased him about it. When he got home that day, he retrieved to his bedroom; not speaking a word about it to his family. Over the days the taunting got worse and eventually his friends refused to help him out. It was like a blow to the chest when his last remaining friend told him that they both shouldn't be seen together anymore.

One day when walking home from school, a bunch of people from his year started to follow him until they were on an empty street. That was the moment when they decided to circle around him and drag him into a close passage where it was five against one. That was the moment when he got stabbed. Left on the cold, concrete floor; bleeding until he lost consciousness. Luckily enough, he was found by someone who just happened to see him as they passed. An ambulance was called; a crowd surrounded him. 

When he next woke up, he was in a hospital bed with a stinging pain in his shoulder that got worse as he lay there. His parents eventually found out about John being gay when they were confronted by a teacher who knew about the bullying. That was one thing that John was so annoyed with; that his family found out about the bullying and him being gay from a teacher. He wasn't even brave enough to tell them himself.

"Are you still angry about that? You know, about me being gay?" asked John.  
"John listen to yourself. It's ridiculous. You're just going through a phase, just like Harry."  
"I'm going through a phase?! You said Harry was going through a phase when she was twenty years old at the time."  
"She's still young enough to not understand all that nonsense, and you are too. You're not gay and that is the end of the matter."  
"But Dad I'm-"  
"I SAID THAT IS THE END OF THE MATTER!" his voice erupted inside the car and John froze; his body started to tense up as he stared into his father's eyes that burned into him, "You listen to me John and you listen good. You've been here for more than two months and managed to not get yourself in trouble with this stupid idea of being gay-"  
"But Dad it isn't-"

"-and I would like you to keep it that way, okay? You're lucky enough that people don't know. Keep it that way. You'll realise when you're older that you're not gay and was in fact going through a phase. Now will you kindly shut up until we get to school." said his father. And that was that. The silence returned; they both stayed quiet. However, John's mind was reeling with worry. Little his father knew about last week; little his father knew about him at all. Why did he have to open his mouth of his and practically shout out that he was gay? The one thing John wanted the most was to erase everything that happened on Friday and return to normal.

"Dad. Turn the car around." said John.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Help is appreciated. I just want to say thank you to everyone who reads this story, gives compliments to the story and people who like the story. All of these little things just make my day :)


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